


fighting hard, fighting strong

by iridescentprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate universe - Mafia, Angst, Bodyguard AU, F/M, Gun Violence, Humor, Protective Bellamy, Romance, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5756431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentprincess/pseuds/iridescentprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mafia agrees to protect Ark City when another mafia declares war. Clarke Griffin, daughter of the mayor and the city's princess, could be a possible target. She needs a personal bodyguard, and there’s only one person qualified to do the job.</p><p>basically, lots of plot + slow burn, for your enjoyment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. introductions and declarations

**Author's Note:**

> this fic stemmed from a craving I had for a dark Bellamy which turned into him being in a mafia. next thing I know, I've created a whole alternate universe. I was debating on whether it should be one big fic or several chapters, but I've decided to make it a multi-chapter. I'm predicting that it's going to be kind of big, and I wanted to get some input while I was in the process of writing it, so. let's see how things go.  
> the title comes from the song "Waiting for My Moment" by Childish Gambino, Jhene Aiko, and Vince Staples.

Clarke walks out into the street at dusk, the June sun softly burning the darkening sky in shades of orange and red. It’s rush hour in Ark City, and she knows better than to try and get picked up on a busy street, so she decides to walk.

Her mother warned her against walking through this part of the city, but as long as she keeps her head down and speedwalks, she thinks she can make it before dark. As a precaution, she feels around inside her bag for the pepper spray she stores in there, keeping her left hand wrapped around it. Just in case.

This part of the city isn’t necessarily dangerous to her, but it is unofficially controlled by the mafia. Most of the crime in the city comes from the place that she is voluntarily about to enter, and it’s slowly becoming harder and harder to see ahead.

As Clarke moves away from the busy streets and shining skyscrapers, she watches the city transform into apartments and houses crumbling at the seams. Dumpsters line the alleys. Metal gates wrap around abandoned buildings. A stray dog walks slowly around the neighborhood. He looks sadly at her, reflecting the poverty-stricken neighborhood.

She passes random people in the streets and hopes that she can make it to Raven’s apartment before the sun goes down. All she wants is to have _one_ movie night with her best friend to celebrate the end of a horrible week full of finals and caffeine. Pre-med is the _worst_ , and she’s only just finished her freshman year at Ark U. She loves being able to heal people, but why does the education to do it have to be so damn stressful?

This whole month all she’s been doing is sticking her nose into her books. She’s been holed up in her room for weeks trying to study and一she’s absolutely, one-hundred percent done. Summer is finally here, and she could breathe.

Clarke’s about to make a run for it, not caring whether she draws attention to herself, when Raven’s apartment complex comes into her view. She’d never been so grateful to set her eyes on a rusty gate, but the time has come.

Raven lives alone. Her mother is lousy, a drunk who spent more time at the bar than at work. As soon as she turned eighteen, Raven got out and moved into her own apartment, paying it off with the money she earns working at the auto shop.

She’s about to come up to an alleyway when she hears voices echoing out of it. _God dammit._ She quickly presses herself to the building to avoid being seen.

“If he’s so rich, then where the fuck is the money?” one man asks in a voice that is borderline furious.

“I told you, we know as much as you do,” another voice utters, trying to calm the other man down. For some reason, this voice sounds familiar to her. “This isn’t something we anticipated. Somebody from within stole from Kane, and he’s not too happy about it. He’s ordered everybody to find out who did this so he can kill the bastard.”

Clarke wonders who would dare betray Marcus. Disobeying the boss of all bosses was like slitting your own throat: setting yourself up for your own death. “Well, tell your boss to get his men in order, or you can bet that we’re gonna cause trouble on your turf,” the man threatens.

“Is that really something you want to get into?” the familiar voice asks rhetorically. “Last I saw, your two buddies were walking around with a limp. Doesn’t look like they want to go through that again.” His voice drips with sarcasm, and she knows that he’s really just trying to pick a fight now.

She snorts. “What is with all you macho mafia men trying to hurt each other all the time?” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

There’s a pause.

“Who’s there?”

Oh fuck _._ Did she say that too loud? Clarke backs away from the alley, slow enough to prevent making sound but fast enough so that she can get the hell out of there.

All of a sudden, she’s pushed forward when her back bumps into something very solid.

She turns to see a man with tan skin and dark curls peeking out from under his black hood, his eyes guarded but full of concern. Clarke panics when she notices his hands placed on her arms where he steadied her. She quickly stumbles away from his grasp. “Sorry,” she squeaks. The man looks down at her and recognizes her immediately, his head drawing back in surprise. “Clarke Griffin?”

“Hey!” the same voice calls to her again. She wills herself to put on a brave face before turning around. No point in running now; the voice sounded too close, and the man in front of her is blocking her only exit. Is he in the mafia too?

One man is rather large, with the sides of his head shaved so that there’s only hair growing from the middle, and the second man stands a bit shorter, with a buzz cut. Both men are wearing dark, inconspicuous clothes like the stranger that she bumped into. The two men don’t acknowledge him verbally, but the second man nods slightly at him. Then he looks at her.

“Clarke,” the man with a buzz cut says. She immediately widens her eyes when she registers who he is. “Miller,” she acknowledges, surprised.

Miller is her friend Monty’s sort-of boyfriend, who she’s only met once before. She says _sort-of_ because their relationship is confusing to keep track of. Being in the mafia made it difficult to be in any sort of relationship outside of it.

She can read the fear all over his face, his mouth pursing and his fists clenching. Then he steps forward hesitantly, glancing at the man next to him and then at her again, like he wants to get to her, and Clarke realizes it’s fear for _her_.

The man next to Miller slowly edges toward her. “I recognize you. You’re the mayor’s daughter, aren’t you?” he guesses, tilting his head to scrutinize her.

“Yes,” she murmurs shakily, not knowing what else to say.

“Your mother’s friends with Marcus Kane, you know him?” he asks. Clarke only nods. She’s not sure what he’s getting at, and she doesn’t really want to know.

Approaching her, he bellows, “Tell him he owes my people money, and that if he doesn’t comply, my _buddies_ ”一he turns to Miller mockingly at this一“and I are coming to Ark City. We don’t want some pretty face like yours to become collateral damage.” He’s three feet away, but he feels a little too close for comfort. Her brain is screaming at her to run far away, but she stands her ground. The last thing she wants to do is appear weak.

The man behind her suddenly steps in front of her, his right hand going to his back. Clarke thinks that he’s going to take her hand, but instead his hand reaches the waistband of his pants, and stays there. _He has a gun,_ she guesses. Then she truly recognizes the significance. _He’s getting ready to use it._ She hopes he doesn’t have to.

She watches as his back tenses in a protective stance. “Gustus, don’t,” the man quietly threatens. Somehow his deep voice sounds more menacing than the other two men. “Do you realize what you’re doing by involving _her_? Don’t be even more of a fucking idiot than you already are.”

 _The last thing you want to do is insult him!_ Clarke shouts in her head, the temptation to facepalm very strong. She’s barely looking over the curly-haired man’s shoulder to see his reaction before he’s raising his fist. The man leans back before it connects to his face.

She yelps in surprise. “Stop!” she yells. Clarke goes to interfere, but Miller takes ahold of her, crossing his arm over her shoulders. Clarke fights against his grip as she watches the fight take place right in front of her.

The man pushes Gustus on his shoulders, causing him to stumble into the wall next to him. Then the man swings to punch him, but Gustus catches his fist in his hand and turns his arm at a painful angle, causing the man to grunt. She cringes. The curly-haired man is faster on his feet, but Gustus is stronger. The pain they’ve inflicted on each other is obviously beginning to take a toll on them, their movements becoming sluggish.

Then he kicks Gustus again, causing Gustus to smack onto the ground. He punches him without wasting any time, his knuckles going bloody. She doesn’t know whose blood is whose anymore.

“Stop, stop!” she yells again. “You’re going to kill him!”

Letting go of Clarke, Miller pries him off after some difficulty. Gustus lies on the pavement, grunting in pain. Clarke walks up to the curly-haired man, shouting, “What the hell? You could've一”

She’s suddenly pushed hard out of the way, smacking into a nearby tree. Before the breath is even taken out of her, Gustus knocks Bellamy backwards with one sufficient blow to the stomach, then takes the opportunity to uppercut him in the face. Clarke is speechless, unable to take her eyes away from the fight.

“I’m merciful enough to leave you alive. But touch me again and I’ll kill you,” he promises before getting into a black car nearby. The man spits in Gustus’ general direction before Gustus speeds away.

Clarke dashes to the man’s side. Miller is on his other side. “Oh my god,” she rushes, prodding him carefully, “are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

He looks at her like she’s crazy. “I’m fine,” he assures her, a steely look in his eyes. He’s _angry._ “The fucker won’t be so fine after I kill him.”

She ignores him. “You have a small gash on your lip,” she diagnoses, her fingertips lightly touching his chin to tilt his head, “and there’s bruises covering your jaw.” Her fingers trail down his skin. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing until he waves her hand away. That’s slightly mortifying. She was touching his face and she’s known him for all of ten minutes.

As she assesses him, she guesses that he’s a couple years older than her, but his pout suggests that he’s about five years old. He’s attractive, though, with freckles and dark eyes and a dimpled chin.

“I’m _fine,”_ he reassures her grumpily. Then his eyes flicker over her body. “Are you?”

“Yes, I am, but I’m not the one that was pummeled by someone twice my size!”

He rolls his eyes. “I was not pummeled一”

A beeping tone interrupts him, coming from his pocket. A second later, the sound is heard again from Miller.

Clarke stares as they take their phones out and immediately scrunch their eyebrows at what they read in almost perfect synchronization. “This isn’t good,” Miller says.

The curly-haired man sitting in front of her sighs. “We better go, Miller.” He gets up, ignoring Clarke’s outstretched hand to help him. He starts walking to Miller, away from her.

She narrows her eyes. “What, you’re going to just nonchalantly walk away without telling me anything?” she asks. “I don’t even know your name!”

He turns around, scowling at her like he would at a child. “Bellamy,” he supplies. “You need to get off the streets, it’s not safe.” He wipes the blood from his knuckles onto his hoodie. “What are you of all people doing at the Edge, princess? Get lost on your way home?”

Clarke’s reminded that some people call her princess. Sure, the media has been calling her Ark City’s princess since her mother first became mayor two years ago. But no one has ever said her nickname straight to her face before, and it makes her feel like a spoiled brat. She likes to think that she’s not, but this guy一Bellamy一is making her feel that way.

Then she remembers the rest of his words and realizes that he wants her safe, which does funny things to her insides. She chooses not to look too deep into that.

He’s not a _complete_ asshole, but what does she expect from someone in the mafia?

“Visiting a friend,” Clarke replies.

He glowers at her vague answer. “You have friends here?” he asks, incredulous.

She glowers right back. She can imitate his grumpy face. “Yes. It’s called making friends without judging where they come from. Are you familiar with that concept, Bellamy?”

That keeps Bellamy from saying anything else for a second, her retort doing satisfying things to his expression as he realizes she’s got him cornered. Clarke smiles wryly.

His face finally settles into a sheepish look. “Sorry, princess,” he apologizes, and Clarke can tell it was difficult to say. She wants to accept his apology, but he called her princess again. It’s like a half-apology. Or maybe three-quarters of an apology.

Miller, who has been watching them interact the whole time, cuts in. “He’s a dickhead, but it’s because he’s sensitive when it comes to money. He’s trying to work on that,” he explains. Bellamy just shrugs, not disagreeing with him.

“Okay, so a justified dickhead,” Clarke summarizes.

Bellamy snorts. “Sounds about right.”

She smirks before fixing a look that she hopes comes off as commanding. “Tell me what’s going on,” she orders.

“All we know is that someone stole money from Kane, which made him unable to pay the other mafia fast enough,” he explains. “The text we both got says we have a meeting at midnight. Guess we’re getting information then.”

“How come Marcus decided to work with these people if you guys don’t really like each other all that much?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Before the deal, we didn’t ever associate ourselves with them. When my friends and I met Gustus and his friends a week ago, it turned into a fight. We resolved it, but it’s not like we could let shit like that go. Kane’s trying to keep the peace between us.”

Clarke nods, lost in thought. “I should ask my mom about this, see what she knows.”

Bellamy is shaking his head before she even finishes her sentence. “No, don’t involve her yet. The last thing Kane wants is to involve politics.”

“Fine, I’ll keep it a secret from her.”

“Good. Now get off the streets,” he repeats his earlier order. Bellamy then smirks, and Clarke thinks that the cut lip would hurt by doing that, but he doesn’t even wince. “See you around, princess.” Beside him, Miller nods in goodbye. He’s not a very talkative person, she notices.

And with that, they walk away, the darkness cloaking their figures. Clarke blinks and she can’t see them anymore.

She’s not sure she really feels up to hanging out with Raven anymore after tonight’s happenings, so she pulls out her phone. _Hey, something's happened and I can’t come over tonight. I’ll tell you later._

She texts Lincoln after. _I’m by Raven’s._

After waiting for a bit on the sidewalk, Clarke sees her car driving up to her. She opens the door and takes a seat, shutting the door behind her. “Hey, Lincoln. How’s your night?”

“It’s been good, you know, waiting to pick you up in the scariest part of town. It’s so late,” he sighs. “Let’s get you home?”

With a laugh, Clarke agrees. She loves her driver’s easy attitude with her. She’s so glad she got Lincoln as her driver, someone who doesn’t tell her mother that she spends time at the Edge, someone who she quickly became friends with. Lincoln’s been her driver for about a year now, and all of the drivers before him were old men who were annoyed at the fact that they had to listen to a teenage girl.

Her phone buzzes in her hand. A message from Raven. _You’re being awfully cryptic. Something bad?_

Clarke types out an answer. _You could say that._

When she gets home, she’s fortunate to find that her mom is still in the middle of a business meeting in the parlor. Abby Griffin is the mayor of Ark City, and Clarke’s okay with her mother being too busy to check in on her. Clarke’s used to being alone. She gets that her mother has to do important things now, like leading a very large metropolitan city.

Clarke tiptoes around the house to reach the staircase. It’s nearly eleven-thirty, and she doesn’t want to be questioned. Her mind was buzzing too loudly to come up with an excuse for why she’s come home so late.

On her way up, she spots Marcus standing in the middle of the parlor, listening to her mom speak in front of five other people sitting on the sofas. The Council is there as well.

Clarke halts. Why was Marcus involved in this business meeting? As far as she knows, he isn’t really into the whole politics thing, being a law-breaking mafia leader and all.

Marcus Kane is a businessman-turned-mafia leader who has diligently worked to become one of the most successful billionaires in the city. Clarke’s not sure what he’s been up to lately, or what his job consists of as a mafia leader, but she likes to think that he’s not all that bad. She remembers seeing him maybe four times a year as a child, giving her gifts from his travels. Her mother and Marcus go way back.

Clarke hesitates before going back down the stairs. She creeps around to the entrance of the parlor, hiding in the darkness of the hallway. Her mom’s voice is increasing in volume as she speaks.

“一don’t understand why they even want to do this!” Abby says, exasperated. “Marcus, how could you let this happen?”

Marcus looks down at his lap, solemn. “I didn’t realize how harsh this mafia was when I agreed to work with them. Other business partners are usually a bit more understanding, but these people…” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I tried giving them their payment through a wire transfer using an offshore account, like I always do. For some reason, the payment couldn’t go through and the transfer was denied. When I checked the account, it was drained of over two million dollars.

“And when I told them I could get them money from a separate account, they allowed me to try. But that account was also drained of over two million, and when the money transfer was denied again, that broke their trust immediately.”

Everyone in the room collectively gasps. “Do you think someone within the mafia stole from you?” Abby asks.

“I’m not sure, but whoever did is going to suffer the consequences,” Marcus declares, “because the other mafia has just threatened war over the phone about ten minutes ago.”

Clarke breathes, letting the information sink in her brain. She didn’t have to keep what Bellamy told her a secret for very long. Marcus did want to involve politics, after all. Which means it must be more serious than Bellamy thought.

Her heart beats faster as she realizes what all of this means.

Ark City has an enemy, and the relative peace that they had sustained for years is about to be shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm the thirstiest bitch. tell me you love it, or tell me you hate it. just tell me something. oh, and leave kudos! I've already written most of the next two chapters, so expect more soon :-) thanks for reading!


	2. unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the next chapter, in under a week after i posted the first chapter lol.  
> now, enjoy.

Clarke wakes up the next morning to a persistent knock on her door. Someone calls her name, their voice muffled. She groans and snuggles further into her blankets.

She hears the door swing open, and then the padding of feet as the person walks closer to her bed. The bed dips when the person sits next to Clarke, who is sprawled out with her face buried into her pillow.

“Clarke,” her mom murmurs, shaking her shoulders. Clarke only groans again in response. “Hey, morning.” Clarke finally looks up to see Abby smiling down at her. Clarke blinks, letting her know she’s listening.

“We need to talk about something important. Something that I know you probably don’t want to discuss.”

“Then don’t discuss it with me.”

“Clarke,” Abby repeats, admonishing her. “I’m being serious. It has to do with the mafia.”

This catches her attention. She bolts straight up, looking at her mother’s concerned, stricken face. “What is it, Mom?”

Abby thinks for a few seconds before speaking. “I had a meeting pretty late last night,” she begins, and Clarke nods along as if she wasn’t aware of that fact, “and Marcus informed me of a problem.”

Abby then goes on to tell her about how Marcus couldn’t pay another mafia located near DC because someone stole money from him. Of course she already knows most of what her mom is saying, but Clarke pretends she doesn’t. It’s better for her not to know that she witnessed a very violent fight between opposing mafias last night. Or that she eavesdropped on her very private meeting.

“I’ve tried paying them back with my own money, but they refuse to take it. We are all very confused, but Marcus says that his men have quarreled with them, so maybe that’s why they got pushed over the edge,” Abby guesses, shaking her head.

Clarke finds that strange. If they threatened the city because they didn’t get a payment, then why would they not take the money her mom offered? Something else is definitely going on.

Clarke urges her mom to continue. “And?”

“Clarke, they’re planning on starting a war with the mafia here in Ark.”

Clarke’s jaw drops in feigned surprise before she furrows her brow in actual confusion. “Mom, I get that this is important, but why are you telling me this so urgently? I’m not involved with the mafia.”

“No, but I am your mother,” Abby states obviously. “And I am in an alliance with the mafia, which makes the mafia connected to you as well. Marcus thinks you might be a target. So until he knows exactly how much danger the city will be in once the other mafia strikes, _just_ as a precaution一I’m assigning a bodyguard to you.”

This time the surprise on Clarke’s face isn’t fake; she did not expect those words to come out of her mother's mouth. And Abby is not bluffing, if her face is anything to go by.

“You’re right. I don’t want to discuss this. _At all._ ” She gets out of bed, brushing past Abby into her en-suite bathroom. Abby follows.

“Clarke, this is for your safety,” she reasons. “Don’t you remember what I told you about the mafia?”

Clarke ignores her, brushing her teeth and staring at herself in the mirror. Of course she remembers. It’s the city’s history.

Years ago, when her mom was councilwoman and not mayor, criminals were on the rise in Ark City. They were successfully robbing the wealthy of their assets and investments, and used that money to become even more powerful. The police weren’t doing a great job of catching the bad guys, and everyone was hopeless.

The city was on the verge of collapsing until the mafia volunteered to protect civilians, primarily the wealthy, when the crimes were starting to affect their business too. They vowed to catch all of the criminals, going to extreme means if necessary. They could risk breaking the law, unlike the law-abiding ACPD. The mafia, being criminals themselves, had the training and intelligence to take them down. She remembers that her mom called the whole concept a protection racket, but when Clarke looked it up, the concept had more to do with protecting drug lords and dangerous businessmen than political families and civilians.

When the mafia came out victorious, the city agreed to form a treaty with them. The police agreed to turn a blind eye to some of their small crimes, like illegal gambling or weapons trafficking, only stepping in when their crimes could endanger civilians.

“I’ve spoken with Marcus this morning. The mafia has agreed to do it again. Protect the people that need to be protected. They are even more eager knowing that it is their fault that innocent people are at risk,” her mom stresses. “Believe it or not, the mafia does not only care about themselves.” Clarke smiles at that. Bellamy _did_ show that he cared about her safety, so she assumes that not all of them were bad. Thinking about it now, she always thought that the mafia was full of selfish criminals, but it’s not like they never helped the city. They’ve done some good before.

She doesn’t really like that she’s going to have someone following her around all day, especially someone from the fucking _mafia_ , but she gets that this is only for her protection. She hopes against hope that her bodyguard will be like Lincoln.

Clarke spits into the sink, rinsing her mouth. Her mom watches her warily, waiting for her to react to everything she said.

She finally turns to her mother. “Who’s my bodyguard?”

Abby visibly relaxes; she sighs in relief, smiling at her daughter. “I made sure that you would get the best bodyguard. Marcus recommended him to me. He’s already downstairs, with other security details that will be assigned to me, and will be around the house as well. Come down when you’re ready.”

By the time Clarke is walking down the stairs, there are various people in the foyer and in the parlor, talking with one another. She stops in surprise at seeing so many people in her house at ten in the morning.

“There you are!” Abby materializes in front of her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her down the rest of the stairs. “Security’s in the dining room having discussions. I’ll introduce you to all of them.”

“Why are there so many people here?” Clarke asks. “I thought it was just the mafia.”

Her mom continues to lead her through the house as she replies, “There are people from City Hall trying to discuss ways to prevent this mafia war from blowing up in our faces. I invited them all here to keep the press from knowing about any possible danger until we have all the details. A press release is scheduled for next week.”

The two finally set foot into their dining room. Clarke knows that the long wooden table has eight chairs wrapped around it, and every single seat is taken. Marcus sits at one end, while another man sits at the other end. The man’s back is turned to someone else, and she can see一and recognize一dark curls long enough to brush the top of his neck.

She barely manages to contain her gasp. _No way. This can’t be happening._ There is no way he is here for what she thinks he’s here for. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But Clarke knows. She _knows_.

“Gentlemen, I’d like to formally introduce you to my daughter, Clarke. Clarke, these are the men who have been chosen to protect us. And that man right there”一she points at the man that Clarke is already looking at一“is your personal bodyguard, Bellamy Blake.” Abby then excuses herself, turning to speak to Marcus.

Clarke’s bodyguard makes eye contact with her before he stands, sauntering right up to her. He’s smirking. “Hi, princess.”

 _Gah!_ That stupid nickname again. That’s going to get old very soon.

He’s immaculate, with a suit and tie and everything. It’s such a contrast from the black hoodie and jeans she saw him in the night before. Even his messy curls look like they are ruffled to perfection. She’s so relieved that she chose to look decent, wearing a blue sundress and putting on some makeup.

Then she sees the bruises that line his jaw, and the red cut on his lip. He’s standing as if he’s struggling to hold himself upright, and she remembers that Gustus punched him not so lightly in the stomach. He should be resting and healing, not getting assigned to protect someone else.

She decides to ask the first question that bursts into her mind. “Why are you here?”

He smirks even wider, if that’s even possible at this point. “Not even going to say hi back?”

“Hi,” she greets him pointedly. “Why are _you_ my bodyguard? You should be resting! You sort of took a beating yesterday, if I can recall.”

He rolls his eyes, clearly not keen on taking care of himself. “I feel great, trust me. Kane claims I’m the most fit to protect the mayor’s daughter,” Bellamy says, his eyes lighting up with mirth.

“And you didn’t object to basically following me around?” she asks, crossing her arms.

He shakes his head, his curls dancing across his forehead. She curses her attraction to long hair. That has gotten her in a bad place before, and she’s not about to go there again. At least she got Raven out of the whole cheating ex-boyfriend fiasco. “Nah. Thought it’d be fun to have a change in scenery, know what it’s like to be up here in your castle,” he says nonchalantly, glancing around the mansion. “Also, Kane’s right. I’m his second, and I can certainly protect you,” he says, puffing his chest, an arrogant smile on his face. _What a cocky son of a bitch._ If she had to describe him in three words, it’d be cocky, sarcastic, and…

 _Gorgeous._ The word pops into her mind before she can stop it, and she groans inwardly. “We’ll see about that,” she replies, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from lifting slightly in a challenging smirk.

“Oh, you definitely will,” he bets, crossing his arms. “Get used to it, too. You’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on.”

Clarke is reminded that she doesn’t know about the details of this arrangement at all. Her mom didn’t explain much of anything to her. “Oh, are you going to be living here?”

He puts a hand on his neck. Licks his lips. He looks shy all of a sudden. “Um, sort of. I have the guest room next to yours. Not that I’m going to be watching you all the time, because I own an apartment with my sister一”

Before Bellamy can finish, someone behind him speaks, someone Clarke’s never met before. “Miss Griffin, your breakfast is ready if you would like to eat now.” She looks over to see it’s the new chef. The last chef retired, and her mother must’ve hired a new one recently.

“Please, call me Clarke,” she answers politely and reflexively, too used to correcting people. “And sure, I’ll eat.” The chef nods before retreating into the adjoining kitchen.

She takes a seat at the vacant dining table while Bellamy watches her curiously, still standing. She’s about to ask him more about his sister, but then she notices that the room is empty apart from the two of them. “Where did everyone go?”

He looks around, unsurprised at the lack of people. He must’ve already known. “They all went to the warehouse一where the mafia holds meetings and other things,” he adds at Clarke’s puzzled look. “They probably left me behind knowing I wanted to talk to you.”

At that, Clarke is intrigued. “About what?”

“Now that we know there’s someone stealing from Kane, it means there’s someone we can’t trust in the mafia. I need you to be careful of who you talk to, and to tell me if you feel suspicious about anyone. It’d really help me do my job.” His face no longer shows any humor, his tone serious as he discusses the situation. She’s completely convinced now that he will be a good bodyguard; he looks like he knows what he’s doing, and that he’s not going to half-ass his job.

“Okay, sure. I could do that. When do you start being my bodyguard?”

“Monday,” he says. The day after tomorrow. “And until then, Kane’s going to be working us hard trying to prepare for a war in the city, so I should go.” He backs away a couple steps before turning around toward the exit out of the dining room. “Later, princess,” he says, turning his head one last time to see her watching him go.

She tries not to put too much thought into it, but when she starts to eat the waffles that the chef puts out in front of her a minute later, she can’t get bloody knuckles and freckles and war out of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think :-)


	3. moving in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is kind of on the smaller side, but the next chapter will definitely be longer. I hope you guys are enjoying so far!

_“Ark City citizens are having mixed reactions about the press release that took place just one hour ago. After the mayor informed the city of the declaration of war from a mafia that rivals the mafia present at the Edge near Washington, DC, citizens are getting angrier and more frightened by the minute. Sources are saying that many are planning on leaving town as soon as they hear a single gunshot…”_

The news reporter’s voice blares from the TV that Clarke sits in front of. She watched her mom speak at the press release from the TV, and she hasn’t changed the channel since then, so now she watches the blonde woman on channel five.

It’s predictable that the city responds this way to war. They haven’t had to worry about something like war before, not even when the criminals were rampaging the city. It’s an appropriate response.

But Clarke knows that she was not prepared for the amount of shit people would say about her mother, about Marcus, about the government. About the way people were running things here. It all makes her want to either sleep for the next forty years to avoid the inevitable mess, or run as far away from Ark City as possible.

Clarke also knows that escaping the danger isn’t an option. Not when her people could be in danger. Ark City is her city. She’s not going down without a fight.

Right now, though, she can use some company.

“Well, I came at just the right time then.”

Clarke whirls around. Her heart jolts before she realizes it’s just Bellamy. _Was I thinking out loud? How embarrassing._ “God, Bellamy, you scared the shit out of me. How did you even get in here?”

She should be embarrassed, caught with no makeup on and only wearing a shirt and sweatpants, but she feels oddly comfortable with him.

She also couldn’t give two shits right now.

Bellamy holds up a key. It shines in the living room light. “Gotta have the key to your house now, right? Abby gave it to me.”

She nods, impassive. Abby Griffin, mayor of the city, just gave someone from the mafia, a criminal, a key to her house to protect her daughter in the middle of a rival mafia war. It cannot get any crazier than that. If it did, Clarke might go crazy.

Then she notices the duffel bags at his feet, his backpack thrown over his right shoulder. “So, you’re really moving in.” It’s not a question. She’s processing too slowly to raise her voice in a questioning tone. It may have been two days since she found out he was going to be her bodyguard, but she suppressed the meaning of it.

He reads the emotions crossing her face, amused. “Yup. Starting today, I’m gonna be living under your roof seven days a week.”

No one has ever lived in the house before. It’s only just been her and her parents. Until her dad died. Now it’s just her and her mom. “What about your sister?”

Bellamy shows his surprise at her remembering about his sister, but quickly hides it. “Yeah, um, about that一I was wondering if she could move in too? I mean, she’s only sixteen, and I’m all she’s got一”

“Yeah, of course she can stay,” Clarke interrupts. “I’m sure we’ve got more than enough room.” She already has one stranger moving in, might as well bring in another.

Bellamy grins widely. “You have no idea how much easier it makes things for me,” he breathes. He looks toward the foyer. “Octavia!”

_Octavia?_

A brunette girl, petite and slender, walks in with a bright purple roller suitcase. “Hi! Thanks so much for letting me stay, Clarke. As you probably already know, I’m Octavia.” She waves, not shy at all.

Octavia looks at the room in awe, taking in every detail like it was crucial. Clarke saddens when she realizes her life never looked like this, living at the Edge with her brother. All fancy plush sofa pillows and golden drapes on the wide windows.

Clarke begins smiling politely back, but then it hits her. She stares at the Blake siblings before directing a glare at the older one. “You brought her along, with her suitcase packed and everything? You guys planned this?”

Octavia giggles. Bellamy starts to chuckle, and Clarke can’t help but grin. It _is_ kind of funny. “I knew you’d say yes. Call it intuition.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. Is she that predictable? Is she just glowing with the aura of hospitality? “What if I had said no?”

Bellamy shrugs, but his face is grumpy. “Take my word for it. I’d convince you eventually.”

She can sense how protective he is towards his sister by the determined look in his eyes.

Thinking about it, she would have been convinced eventually. She doesn’t want to know how far he’d go to protect his sister; there's an obvious bond between them that she doesn't plan on breaking.

“I’d pay to see him beg,” Octavia says to her, lightening the mood.

“Me too,” Clarke agrees.

Bellamy shakes his head. He leaves the room, picking up his things and heading upstairs. “Don’t hold your breath,” he calls loudly with his back turned to them.

Octavia laughs, going over to the couch and sinking down until her feet touch the floor. To be fair, it is a high sofa. “So, what are we watching?” A reporter chooses that moment to broadcast traffic in the city. “Ew, change the channel. I see enough of the news because Bell watches it.”

“I hear enough of the news because my mom is on it.”

“Must suck for you to have such a successful mayor as your mom,” Octavia teases.

Clarke snorts before clicking the remote. She thinks they’re off to a good start. “So, you go to Ark High right?”

“Yeah. Incoming junior now, since summer just started. And I’m spending it at the mayor’s house!” She opens her arms wide, gesturing at the enormity of the room. “Do you guys have a pool?” Octavia nearly bounces in excitement.

“Yes, we do,” Clarke informs her. “We can go night swimming when the evenings get hot enough. We have this cool new option to turn on underwater lights.”

“Oh my god, we have to do it soon!” Octavia yells. “This summer is going to be so much fun. I can feel it. No stupid mafia war is going to stop that.”

“I sure hope so. I have a three-month break from pre-med. If I’m not having fun, no one is.”

Octavia sends Clarke a sly grin. It just screams _trouble._ “Trust me, anyone with _me_ is having fun.”

The blonde raises her eyebrows in slight disbelief at the insinuation, but she doesn’t question it. Octavia can be selling drugs on the side for all she knows. She does have a criminal for a brother. 

* * *

It doesn’t sink in that Bellamy’s actually going to live _next door_ to her until he walks past her in the hallway the next morning. Wearing only a black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair tousled from sleep.

Clarke nearly runs into a leafy plant in shock. She falls slightly over it, almost losing her balance and faceplanting. She shrieks and holds the plant steady. “Oh god,” she mutters, shutting her eyes as if  she is willing herself to wake up from this god-awful dream _._

“Woah, you okay?” Bellamy says as he approaches her, humor written on his face while his tone is concerned. They contradict each other. “How did you not see the plant there?”

“Daydreaming, I guess,” Clarke lies on the fly. _Not good enough! You’re such a horrible liar!_

“Okay, princess,” he says skeptically, before walking down the stairs he was going towards in the first place. Clarke puts her head in her hands.

She can’t believe she just did that. She ran into a fucking houseplant. This has got to be some kind of cosmic joke.

She slides down the wall behind her, sinking to the floor. _This is where I belong. On the floor, avoiding social interactions. And Bellamy._

Then Clarke quickly dismisses the thought. She can try avoiding Bellamy, but she doesn’t think that would work out too well for her, with him having to actually be with her to do his job.

If this is how she’s going to act around him, how is she going to function with him standing next to her wherever she goes? This is going to be a _disaster_.

“Why are you on the floor?”

Clarke looks up to see her mom at the end of the hallway, dressed to go to work. She’s business-looking, as usual. “Wallowing in self-pity,” she mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing. Anything new?”

Abby shakes her head. “It’s eerily quiet. They haven’t said anything to us since they promised war.” So, they’re ignoring them. Clarke isn’t sure what they’re doing until her mom clears it up for her. “I think they want the element of surprise. They’re waiting for us to let our guards down, maybe.”

“We’re not going to do that, then,” Clarke declares, a steely look in her eyes.

Abby nods, a small smile gracing her face. “No, we most definitely are not,” she agrees. “What about you? Anything new?”

“Nope,” Clarke says, popping the _p. “_ By the way, Bellamy’s sister Octavia is staying too. And before you say anything, I’m pretty sure they’re a package deal. No getting rid of her without him leaving too.”

“I wasn’t going to kick Octavia out! I’ve already met her. She’s nice. Bubbly, intelligent.”

The mayor actually approves. Clarke’s surprised with how she’s taking this news. She knows her mom doesn’t take kindly to strangers, especially ones linked to the mafia. It never mattered that she had an alliance. “You’re actually okay with this?”

Her mom sits down next to her on the floor, her back touching the wall. “I need Bellamy here. Protecting you. There’s no way I’m going to let him run off.”

 _Wow. She must hold Bellamy in high regards._ Clarke just nods.

Abby continues. “Marcus gave me background info on him. He’s his second. Been training with him for about ten years now. Excellent skills in hand-to-hand combat and in using a gun. Don’t doubt his ability to protect you for a second. He’s young, but he’s fit for the job,” she vouches. _She really does hold him in high regards._

Ten years? He must’ve been just a boy when he began training. Why was he so young when he started training to be part of organized crime?

 _Don’t doubt his ability to protect you for a second,_ her mother said. Clarke thinks about Bellamy’s brawl with Gustus that fateful night, and how he almost beat Gustus into passing out. How he told her to _get off the streets, it’s not safe._ How utterly serious he looked when he warned her not to trust anyone in the mafia.

“I don’t doubt it.” And she’s absolutely sincere. He’s a criminal, someone her mom taught her to avoid, but she finds that she trusts him. And that’s what scares her the most.


	4. botanical gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's currently 1 AM, the time where my mind is at its prime.
> 
> so after a lot of procrastinating, here is the next chapter!

Bellamy is a constant presence in Clarke’s life for the next month.

He’s there when she goes to her summer art classes. He’s there when she goes out to lunch with Raven, sitting at the next table over. He’s there when she’s at home, chilling in her pajamas with Chinese takeout and Netflix.

He’s just _there_.

There hasn’t been much talking going on between them, despite the fact that they spend almost every waking moment together. Clarke wants to try talking to him, but when he’s her bodyguard and not just _Bellamy_ , it’s a thousand times more difficult. She can’t make small talk. It’s hard to talk to someone who is purely there to babysit her.

The only time he ever addresses her is when he needs to know her schedule for the week, or when he needs to know if she’s going to leave the house so that he can tell Lincoln to start the car.

Speaking of Lincoln, him and Bellamy have become _friends_ of sorts, much to Clarke’s astonishment. She would’ve never expected that particular friendship to blossom, but it did. She notices that they talk in a serious manner, but there’s this undertone of camaraderie that is entirely their own.

Octavia has been fitting in nicely with the Griffins, giving Clarke a sisterly vibe that she never experienced, being an only child. They hang out almost every day, never ceasing to see each other regularly seeing as they live together. They bond over their love for _Grey’s Anatomy_ and Patrick Dempsey’s hair.

It’s an emotional experience, crying with someone at three in the morning about every killed-off character. Bellamy just watches them from his seat in the armchair, staring at the two in amusement. When it kept happening, he learned to have a box of tissues handy.

The younger Blake has also been getting close to Lincoln, but in a much different way from Bellamy that Clarke is not going to mention. Yet.

As June fades to July, the temperature rises, making it almost unbearable to walk outside. Clarke can’t take the heat. She barely wears any clothing anymore. Today, she opts for denim shorts and a tight red tank top.

Octavia went out with some friends this morning, so Clarke's been alone for the day with only her friend’s handsome brother to keep her company instead. She already knows that laziness will take over this soon-to-be-wasted day.

She lays on her cool sheets, staring at the ceiling, her door open to let the cool air into her room. She needs to remind her mother to upgrade the AC in the house.

Abby has been too busy with the impending war on her hands. Just last week, Marcus’ sources reported that the other mafia has been trafficking weapons一more than usual. It’s only a matter of time before they attack, and they don’t want to be unprepared. Clarke almost wants to believe that the other mafia was bluffing when they said they would hit the city, but everyone, and she means _everyone_ , has been telling her not to underestimate them.

“Princess,” someone at the door says. Clarke turns her head to see Bellamy leaning against her doorframe, his arms crossed, small smirk gracing his features. He must be amused by the way she’s laid out like a starfish on her bed.

If there’s _one_ thing that hasn’t changed about their relationship, it’s his nickname for her. The teasing never went away. He doesn’t say it with malice anymore, but it never ceases to annoy her. Of course, Bellamy noticed, and that only made him grin wider when calling her by the nickname.

“Your mom told me you have some kind of gala to go to today?”

“Oh, shoot, the Botanical Gardens opening,” she says. She totally forgot about that. Guess her day isn't going to be filled with laziness after all. “Ark City Park has a botanical garden now, and there’s a gala for a bunch of rich people to donate money. Guess I have to go to this, huh?”

“I honestly would rather guard you while you painted your toenails with O, but your mom insisted,” he tells her. “Get ready, the function starts at six.”

Clarke looks over at the clock and groans. She has a little less than an hour.

She dresses quickly, used to getting ready for these kinds of things. She wears a powder blue floor-length dress with a halter neckline and nude heels. She’s terrible at makeup, so she goes for innocent nude eyeshadow and red lips. Her hair is also slightly terrifying, so she brushes through it until the hair is detangled.

Clarke rotates to check herself in the mirror. _Not bad, Griffin._

She walks down the stairs, her heels clicking as they hit the hardwood floor. She’s got a clutch in one hand, and a一now empty一glass of wine in the other.

Bellamy’s already waiting at the front door for her when she descends. He’s in a suit, as usual when he guards her outside, but this time he wears a bow tie. Clarke takes a moment to appreciate the view.

He looks up from his phone at the sound of her entrance. His mouth opens slightly, before he blinks his eyes and shakes his head, like she’s a mirage that could disappear. She almost smiles in triumph. This dress definitely has the desired effect.

“Ready?” he asks, voice rough as always. His eyes run over her body quickly before glancing away. “You look一you look nice.” He clears his throat, shifts on his other foot. If Clarke didn’t know any better, she’d say he looks shy. Clarke bites her cheek to stop herself from grinning.

“Thanks, you too. The bow tie is a nice change.”

He acknowledges her compliment with a nod. Then he sees the wine glass and frowns. “Why are you drinking already? There’s probably alcohol there.”

“Oh, I just need to be a little fuzzy before going to one of these,” she explains nonchalantly, holding the wine glass up.

“Are these galas that bad?”

“Kinda,” she hedges, scrunching her nose. 

Thirty minutes later, they arrive at the city’s new botanical gardens. When they get out of the car and bid Lincoln goodbye, the function is already in full swing. Her mom should be here somewhere, entertaining the guests like a mayor does.

“Princess has arrived,” Bellamy suddenly says out of the blue.

Clarke turns inquisitively toward him. He looks too serious to be teasing her, and she doesn’t think he would be trying to communicate with the streetlight in front of him. He has his hand pressed to the ear she isn’t facing. “Who are you talking to?”

He holds up a finger, telling her to wait, as he scans the scene in front of him. Clarke follows his sight. All she can see are adults milling around, laughing and chatting. The gala is being hosted right in the center of the gardens, where a restaurant almost entirely made of glass lies. Flowers and shrubs and trees grow around it, like it’s protecting it somehow. There’s several ponds full of koi, small lanterns circling each body of water. The botanical gardens are really a very spectacular, beautiful place. Clarke is impressed.

“No signs of suspicious activity. Walking in now,” Bellamy murmurs.

He tentatively places a palm on the small of her back, guiding her forward. Clarke looks up, but he’s staring straight ahead, determined as ever. A sensation runs up her spine. He never touches her.

Clarke walks forward, waiting for him to say something.

“We’ve got our suspicions about tonight,” Bellamy finally explains, whispering in her ear. “This is the first public event that the city is having since the declaration. Almost every important person is here, including your mother and, more importantly for me, _you_ , so we all got earpieces just in case we needed to call for backup.”

She begins to climb up the steps leading to the outdoor restaurant, him right behind her. “We?”

“Others in the mafia are here as security. Miller is one of them.”

“I doubt they would come after me,” she argues. “I don’t think I’m their top priority.”

“Regardless, you are mine. And a lot of other people’s, might I add.”

Clarke sighs and rolls her eyes when he isn't looking. He’s always just business with her. Convincing her own bodyguard that she’s not in any danger is pointless.

It’s also pointless when she’s fixated on the fact that he said she was his一his top priority, but it still causes her to lose her focus for a moment.

They walk under a cherry tree on the path toward the restaurant. “Tell Miller I said hi.” She hasn’t seen Miller since _that_ night, but she’s heard from Monty that they’re still trying to maintain a relationship. She thinks they’re cute together, something so unlikely but so expected. She told him when she met up with him a couple days ago, and he shyly laughed it off.

Bellamy presses his ear again. “Miller. Clarke says hi.”

He stares at nothing as he listens to Miller on the other end. Then he grins, shaking his head toward the ground. “You’re such an asshole.” He looks at Clarke. “He’s asking you how horrible the last month has been, being with me all the time.”

Clarke grins too. “It hasn’t been that bad, since he doesn’t act like such a dick anymore,” she says, knowing Miller is listening in. “I don’t know why he’s being so worried because there is absolutely no danger in my vicinity and you guys are going overboard with the security一”

Bellamy sends her a glare that quickly shuts her up. “Miller’s scolding you about that, just so you know.”

Clarke leads the remaining way to the party. On the way up, she spots an assortment of flowers, from roses to hydrangeas to acacia blossoms, each planted next to a card with facts on the flower. She wants to stop and read what they say, but Bellamy pushes her forward.

By the time they arrive inside and Clarke is seated, her mother is speaking to the crowd on a raised podium. People stare at her and Bellamy, probably judging them with their critical eyes, but she ignores them. She already knows how stupid it looks, bringing a bodyguard to the mall, let alone a _charity event._

No one looks like they’re eating yet, so at least they aren’t late for dinner. Bellamy stands awkwardly behind her chair, not sure where to go.

“一be pleased if you could make a generous donation to the park itself, which will go directly to the new botanical gardens and its preservation. Ark City is taking the initiative to taking care of our environment and spreading the word. A toast,” Abby announces, taking her champagne flute and holding it up. “To Ark City’s Botanical Gardens!” Everyone takes their glass and holds it up, toasting and cheering. Clarke quickly grabs two champagne flutes from a waiter and gives one to Bellamy. “Let’s toast.”

He puts the champagne flute down on the table. “I’m not drinking on the job, princess.”

Clarke shrugs. “Your loss,” she says, before grabbing his champagne flute with her other hand and downing both flutes. Bellamy stares at her with something akin to awe. She smiles, raising her eyebrow in challenge.

“Blake always liked his women able to hold their liquor,” someone behind her jokes.

Clarke turns to see someone she doesn’t recognize. She can sense Bellamy stiffen slightly behind her chair. “Murphy,” he acknowledges the man, something dark lacing his tone.

“What’s with the judgmental tone? I’m only here to provide security. I’m sure _princess_ here appreciates it.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. She opens her mouth to rebut, but before she can say anything, Bellamy growls, “Don’t call her that.”

“What, you’re the only one who can?” Murphy asks, crossing his arms in defiance. “Her code name is Princess, after all. Can’t be the only one calling her that.”

“Murphy, just shut up and guard something.”

Murphy taunts him with a shit-eating grin before saluting him and walking off. Clarke hears a low rumble forming in her bodyguard’s chest.

“Bellamy, it’s okay,” she murmurs, placing a hand on his arm instinctively. “He’s only joking.”

He fixes her with a look that tells her she’s being very stupid. “Princess, you don’t know him,” he explains. “He’s… dangerous.”

“Dangerous enough to be the one who stole money from Marcus?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Trust me, I’ve definitely had that thought.”

A waiter comes by and places a plate of steaming chicken and peas in front of her. It smells delicious. Clarke takes a big bite before asking, “So you don’t think it’s him?”

He takes the seat next to her, sensing that they were going to have a long conversation. “I can’t prove it, but I know it’s not him. It’s not like him to do things quietly and without some goal in mind, and I don’t think he has anything against Kane. He was one of the first people I ruled out.”

Clarke can tell he’s put a lot of thought into this. She nods in acknowledgment before taking another bite of her food.

When dinner ends, a DJ starts the music and people begin to make their way to a wide open area meant to be the dance floor. Clarke watches couples and friends alike dancing to the fast-paced beat.

“You’re not gonna dance, princess?”

Clarke snorts. “I’m not drunk enough to dance with adults.”

“ _You’re_ technically an adult.”

“So are you.”

He ruffles his hair in slight frustration. “How many times do I have to say that I’m on the job? I’m not here to socialize and have fun.”

Abby chooses that moment to interrupt their conversation. She pats Clarke’s shoulder, and nods at Bellamy. “I’m glad you could come, Clarke.”

Clarke turns to glare at her mother. “I was forced to come.”  

“You need to show that you actively care about what the city is doing,” Abby clarifies. “I hope you’ve been talking to people other than Bellamy.”

Clarke can guess what that might sound like to somebody else, but Abby only stares at her in that chastising way that only mothers know how to do. “I said hi to some people.”

Her mother sends her a disbelieving look. “I’m going to go, but please try to enjoy yourself,” she suggests, before walking off to swindle the wealthy of their money. Clarke really admires her mother.

As the song playing slowly comes to an end, three things happen in quick succession.

The glass walls to the left of Clarke shatter, the sound of a gunshot ringing in her ears, people yelling and ducking.

Four men in black pull their guns out of their waistbands, walking casually through the space where the glass window was.

And then Bellamy, with fast reflexes, pulls Clarke behind him, shielding her. When Clarke looks at him, she can see his gun is already aimed towards the intruders.

It’s deathly silent in the room, the four men standing with their guns aimed at Bellamy as he stares them down, before the man in the center of the group pipes up, grinning from ear to ear.

“Guess we crashed the party, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhanger! thoughts?


	5. intruder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you haven't already guessed, the grounders are the rival mafia. 
> 
> as always, enjoy the chapter!

“You’re Bellamy Blake, right?” the man sneers. Each step he takes forward causes Bellamy to walk backward, forcing Clarke to walk backward too.

The man currently taunting her bodyguard is tall and burly, with a shaved head and a scar below his left eye. The three other men with him are also tall and burly. They remind her of Gustus. _How does their mafia find people so huge?_ she thinks.

She hears multiple guns cocking behind her. The gala’s security is edging closer, mafia and police alike, aiming their weapons at the enemy. She searches until she finds Miller, giving hand signals to someone else. Clarke counts the heads, and exhales in slight relief. At least the enemy is outnumbered four to seven.

People try running out the door, but then the tall man points his gun toward the corner of the room and fires two bullets. Everyone flinches and freezes in the middle of their panic. Clarke scans the crowd until her gaze lands on Abby, who is surrounded by four men alone, dedicated to keeping the mayor safe. Their eyes lock, and her mom gives her a small but strong nod that says _I’m right here, I’m safe_. Clarke nods back before they both turn towards the shooter.

He surveys the room and nods in approval at the apparent silence. He appears unaffected at the fact that he’s got seven guns trained on him, and goes back to pointing his at Bellamy. Clarke tenses immediately.

“Marcus Kane’s second-in-command,” he praises with a bit of sarcastic awe. “An apprentice of sorts, if people trained to be professional criminals,” the man jokes, trying to anger Bellamy. It looks like it’s working, if his nostrils flaring and his shoulders tensing have anything to say anything about it. “And also, Clarke Griffin’s bodyguard. Who would’ve thought, _organized criminals_ protecting political figures? You men give mafias a bad name.”

“Mafias already had a bad name,” Bellamy shoots back, his arm unwavering as he continues to hold up his gun.

“I don’t believe that,” the man utters. “What’s wrong with a little chaos? Mafias are a reminder that the world isn't as fucking perfect as the metropolitan area make it out to be.”

Bellamy stiffens. “Some people don’t do crimes for chaos.”

Clarke wonders what he means by that. Does he consider himself someone who does crimes for something else other than chaos? She files that away for later analysis. There’s so much she doesn’t know about him, this man meant to protect her.

The dark-haired man standing in front of them, much to everyone’s astonishment, lets out a booming laugh. “Oh, how could I forget? The money that comes with the job is great too.” The man grins wickedly, and Clarke suddenly has the desire to run, far, far away from this place. Anywhere but here.

She hates this feeling.

“What do you want?” she hisses, showing defiance as she moves to Bellamy’s side. In her peripheral vision, she can see his eyes shut in silent anger. She is _so_ getting shit for this later, but screw it. This was going too slow for her. “Just get on with it already, so these innocent people can leave.”

The man scoffs. “You think I want something from you, honey? Because I don’t.” He gestures nonchalantly with his gun. “I want to watch the mafia in Ark burn.”

“What’s your problem, anyway? If this whole fight is because of a _failed transaction_ why would you want to go kill the whole mafia? The city can get you the money.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy growls through clenched teeth.

“No, the girl has a valid point,” the man says. “But where you’re wrong is my motive. I’m not just doing this for the money.” He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is louder, booming across the restaurant. All the people cowering next to the tables stare at the scene in fright. “My name is Quint. Your people, in the mafia, know what they did, and there is no way that we will stop unless vengeance is delivered!”

Clarke looks to Bellamy. “What is he talking about?”

He furrows his brow, his eyes never leaving Quint. “I don’t know.”

Quint glares at Bellamy until he spits in his direction. “I’m talking about the fact that someone in your law-abiding joke of a mafia killed my brother because you were siding with the _police_!”

She puts the pieces together. Quint’s brother must’ve been a criminal during the time when crime was at its highest, when the mafia was working with the city before. And now the mafia was siding with the city again, and the rival mafia must be angry. Now that she is thinking about it, the rival mafia must’ve been involved in some of the crimes rampaging the city that Marcus' mafia was trying to stop.

“You might be wondering why I’m bothering to take vengeance now when the _almost_ criminal takeover was a long time ago,” Quint continues, “but I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to strike, preparing for the worst that could come from unleashing what I wanted to do. When your boss一Kane is it? When he couldn’t send the money to Indra on time, we knew it was the right time to finally start.” He grins wickedly. “Blood must have blood.”

“That’s not right,” Clarke says. Bellamy steps slightly in front of her, blocking her from Quint, a low rumble starting in Bellamy’s chest. She continues to talk anyway, moving her head around his body. “I understand that you’re grieving for your brother, but the mafia was under orders to take down all of the criminals, which was for the good of the people, by the way. The criminals were trying to overrun the city!”

“Don’t listen to her,” Bellamy intercepts. And then, turning to Clarke, he whispers lowly, “Will you _please_ shut up, Clarke.” His eyes plead with her, desperate but with a fire in them that makes her figuratively sew her mouth closed, but not without grumbling.  

Bellamy rounds back to Quint to see that the distance between his gun and Bellamy is getting smaller and smaller. “You don’t have to do this. Look around you, there’s innocent people in here, who are not involved with this,” he reasons, putting one hand up while his other hand is still holding up the gun. “Your fight is with us and us only. Don’t involve the rest of the city.”

Quint narrows his eyes at him. “There’s no use in trying to convince me. My fight is with Ark City itself. The only reason why criminals like us are always committing crimes is because the wealthy hold all the money! They don’t give a shit about people like us, about _your_ people at the Edge! And you men can’t see that!” His voice echoes across the room, and Clarke realizes that his words can persuade the many mafia in this room, the mafia whose jobs are to protect the city. She holds her breath, waiting for Bellamy to react.

When she sees Bellamy shake his head, she breathes a sigh of relief. “No, I don’t. Miller, now!” he shouts, pushing Clarke back as Quint looks on in confusion.

She turns back just in time to see Miller take something dark and spherical out of his suit jacket before he throws it toward Quint and his men. Bellamy bands his arms around Clarke’s shoulders and pushes down, forcing her to crouch next to a table, his body shielding hers. The air around them is suddenly foggy and white, and she cannot see two feet in front of her. _Smoke bomb_ , she thinks.

Bellamy wordlessly drags her to the exit as gunfire begins to sound in the restaurant. Clarke doesn’t resist, falling in line behind him. She listens as he shouts various words into his earpiece, things like _Princess is out with me safely_ and _update me on anything_ and _do not kill them unless absolutely necessary_. She’s slower in her heels, so she takes them off on the way; when he takes her hand, she doesn’t protest.

Clarke tugs on his hand as they descend the steps. “What about my mom? And all those people?

“They’ve got your mom, don’t worry. And they’ve told me that they’re getting the people out safely. I’m not sure what’s happening right now with Quint and his men.”

Her words calm her some, but not enough to calm her rapidly increasing heartbeat. He doesn't let go until he has pulled her into the car parked on the sidewalk with a waiting Lincoln inside. Clarke guesses that he’s heard of what happened and doesn’t need to ask them what happened.

“Drive,” Bellamy orders Lincoln, and Lincoln complies too easily, stepping on the gas. She lurches forward, shrieking from the sudden motion.

“You guys okay?” Lincoln asks, looking at the two through his rearview mirror.

“We’re fine, thanks. The speed just surprised me.”

Bellamy reaches over to buckle her seatbelt for her, and for a moment Clarke can feel the warmth from his palm.

The moment ends when he presses a hand to his earpiece again, responding to something that she cannot hear. “Yes. I want to know how they got in. Can someone inform Kane of this and tell him I want everyone to report to the warehouse at midnight?”

He stares at his hands while he listens to someone respond. “Okay, okay. See you later.” The conversation seems to be over then, because then he sits back and closes his eyes, his eyebrows scrunched. His lips form a perfect circle as he exhales through his mouth.

Clarke chews her lip slowly. By the sound of it, Bellamy is definitely stressed and pissed off. She also notes that he is the one calling the shots for the mafia.

“Bellamy…” she starts, hesitating.

“Don’t start. Give me ten minutes, I need to recover from the shitstorm that just happened in there.”

Clarke crosses her arms as she sits back, mirroring his position. “I’m not going to apologize for standing up to that guy. He was obviously trying to anger you, and when that didn’t work well he started pointing his fingers at the wealthy and then started pointing his gun closer to you! I’m surprised you didn’t react violently一”

“Clarke,” he stops her, eyes still closed, and she startles because he never calls her by her name which must mean that he’s not her biggest fan right now. “You argued with someone from a _rival mafia_ with a _gun_. Not to mention that you’ve drawn attention to yourself, more than you could already by being the mayor’s daughter! What you did tonight was stupid and reckless.”

“Oh my god, you treat me like I’m five,” she hisses. “I was trying to reason with him. These people clearly go about justice in a different way. He was talking about _watching the mafia burn_ and _blood must have blood_ 一”

“That’s not what I meant, princess,” he says, opening his eyes and directing them at her. “What if Quint got so mad about what you were saying that he decided to hurt you? _Shoot_ you? What would have happened then? I一” he stops, rubbing his forehead. “If you make my job more difficult, I might just have to put you on house arrest or something.”

She scowls. “It won’t work. One thing you should know about me一I’m great at sneaking out.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”  

“Depends on whether you’re up for it,” she replies, sending him a smirk.

He doesn’t smirk back at her, but the corners of his lips turn up, and she’ll take what she can get. “It’s not a challenge if it’s something I’m already set on doing in the first place.”

She blinks. “Wait, you were actually serious about the house arrest? Because I’m pretty sure I have something called a life.”

“And I hate to sound morbid, but I’m trying to make sure you continue _having_ a life.”

Clarke frowns. He has a point. He stares amusedly at her as she contemplates how to refute. “Fine, whatever. You win. But I’m not going to stay home all day and go crazy.”

“I’m not winning, I’m just doing my job,” he clarifies. “And I’m not going to make you stay home all day. Maybe have an earlier curfew or something.”

She scoffs. “Are you kidding me,” she asks flatly.

“I don’t joke about your safety.”

“And here I thought you were a badass criminal,” Clarke teases, trying to lighten the mood. “Turns out you’re just a stellar bodyguard.”

“Can’t I be both?” Bellamy flashes her a toothy grin, the smile she was looking for the whole time, and she smiles triumphantly.

Soon enough, Lincoln swerves into the driveway. Bellamy leaves the car first to check the surroundings before opening her car door. Clarke exits with grace, her feet landing softly on the concrete driveway, her index and middle fingers hooked on the insides of her heels. She walks forward a little, but doesn’t rush toward her door. Instead, she basks in the cool summer night, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the starry sky. She breathes deeply, her arms not completely extended but about halfway there. When she opens her eyes, she sees Bellamy’s eyes on her, watching her with an inscrutable expression, but she guesses it’s something close to amusement, or maybe even admiration. She hopes it’s the latter.    

“Enjoying the night, princess?”

“As much as I could, considering the night was ruined by people with guns, as per usual of course.”

Bellamy nods in mock agreement. “Mmhm, as per usual.”

She begins to walk towards the front door, and she hears him trail behind her. Entering the house, she ascends the stairs, already looking forward to taking off her dress and makeup. She’s had a long, tiring day, and all she wants is to play a couple episodes of _Grey’s Anatomy_ while taking a relaxing bath.

“Hey, so I’m gonna chill for the rest of the night, so you don’t have to...” She looks down into the foyer and finds Bellamy not down there. “Watch over me. And I’m talking to no one, okay.” She has no idea where he’s gone, but right now she doesn’t care. She needs a bit of “me” time.

Clarke gets to her bedroom, throwing her heels in the general direction of her closet before heading to her en suite bathroom. She’s never been so eager to start up a bath, so ready to just bathe away this entire night and get it out of her memory.

Turning the faucet, she begins to undress as the water runs into her bathtub. Clarke takes off her dress first, struggling with the zipper but eventually getting it off her body. She rubs a makeup wipe on her face, staring at her complexion in the mirror. _God, I look like I’ve been dragged through hell,_ she notices, looking at her emerging eyebags and general paleness. Tonight, she is going to sleep for a solid twelve hours, she knows it. If anything, she’ll have to stop herself from falling asleep in the bathtub.

She’s had a rough night, okay? It’s a hard life, having to go to a gala that gets interrupted by a group of organized criminals.

Clarke turns the water off when the bathtub is filled with just the right amount of water. She pops in one of those aromatic bath bombs, watching it fizz into purple and pink swirling colors. The smell of lavender and roses fill the air. She puts her hair up in a bun before dipping her feet in. Sliding into the hot water一scalding hot temperature is the only temperature she’ll bathe in一she sighs in content, soaking herself to the tops of her shoulders and closing her eyes. Thoughts try to push into her mind about what Quint said to her, to Bellamy. She drives each one away.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there before her ears catch someone shouting distantly. The shouts jolt her out of her reverie. She can’t make out what the voice is saying until it gets closer to her bedroom, but even then it’s sort of faint. “Clarke! Clarke!” Bellamy shouts.

“Bellamy, I’m in here,” Clarke calls, struggling to raise her voice as he shakes herself out of her fright.  

“Clarke!” he shouts again, closer now. His footsteps tell her he’s in her bedroom now. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m taking a bath, idiot,” she yells. The sound of his footsteps halt before getting closer to the bathroom door. “If you were actually bothering to listen to me before you took off to wherever, you would’ve known that.”

“God, you scared the hell out of me there,” he says, and the complete genuine in his words somehow warms her more despite the warm water around her. “I was just going to tell you that I’m heading over to the warehouse for a meeting. O’s sleeping over at her friend’s house, and your mom contacted me saying that she’s going to the meeting too. You okay here before I go?”

“No, I’m not!” she exclaims, reaching for her towel. “Wait for me, I’m coming with you.”

“ _What_? Absolutely not. Stay here. There’s security surrounding your entire house, I’m sure you’ll be fine for one night.”

She stands, wrapping her towel around herself. She quickly pulls her hair out of its bun, fixing her blonde locks in the mirror. The exhaustion she was feeling earlier has dissipated. “No, I’m going with you. I want to be in the know, I want to be involved. I was at the gala, I could bring something to the discussion. Even my mom is there!”

“Because she’s the mayor! I’m not allowing you to come, it’s too dangerous.”

“Oh, calm down,” she says before opening the door, one hand on the towel and one hand on the door handle. Bellamy is sitting in her desk chair, staring at her wall. She takes a moment to catalogue his appearance. He's not wearing the delicious suit anymore一did she really just call it that?一in favor of a black jacket and grey sweatpants, and, okay, she shouldn’t be complaining.

When he turns his head and sees her nearly naked form, his eyes bulge out of his sockets. He jumps up quickly. “Um, sorry, I’m just gonna wait outside,” he blurts, almost running out the door. Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever seen him so flustered.

She laughs quietly to herself before asking, “So, you’re waiting for me?”

His sigh travels through the door. “It’s at midnight, princess. Don’t you want to, I don’t know, get some sleep? Watch TV?”

“No.”

He sighs again. “I don't want you to do what you did back at the gardens. You need to stay quiet until someone addresses you directly, or I'm taping your mouth shut."

"Yeah, okay, I get it. Sheesh. So I can go?"

"Princess, I'm being serious, okay?" He pauses, thinking. "You have ten minutes.”

Clarke grins. She doesn’t want to say that she likes getting her way, but she likes getting her way.


	6. midnight meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the next chapter! hope you guys are liking it so far! I wish I could do regular updates, but I'm always too busy. plus, I try writing decently-sized chapters, and the writing process could take a little while, so. bear with me on this!

“What does the mafia even talk about in these meetings? Current presidential candidates? The stock market?”

They’re back in the car, with Lincoln whistling and driving, the radio cranking up a random pop song. The inside of the car continuously brightens and darkens as they zoom past the city lights and neon signs. The city is still alive late on a Saturday night, everybody bustling to get somewhere, the traffic never ceasing.

If Clarke didn’t know any better, the last thing she would assume was that she was heading to an informative meeting with criminals.

But she _does_ know better.

Bellamy, who is sitting next to her, snorts. “Actually, sometimes we do. But politics and the national economy aren’t really our biggest concerns at the moment.”

“True.”

“You sure you don’t want to just stay in the car? You really don’t have to go to this, it’s only informational.”

Clarke sends him a look. “Bellamy, information is what I want. And I want to know what your guys’ headquarters look like.”

He smirks. “Headquarters? You make us sound like we’re some government agency.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

Pretty soon, they get deeper and deeper into the Edge and the lights dim and darken the neighborhood’s houses. Lincoln pulls up to an abandoned warehouse on a deserted street. “Is this it?” he asks warily.

“Yup,” Bellamy says, opening the car door and allowing Clarke to scoot out. “Thanks Lincoln, we’ll be done in about an hour or so.”

Lincoln nods, already pulling out a book to read for the wait. Bellamy closes the door behind Clarke and silently urges her to follow him as they walk toward the warehouse.

The abandoned warehouse isn’t as creepy as Clarke thought it would be, but it still looks eerie in the moonlight. It’s big, with several stories and an old sign at the roof that says _Sullivan’s Car Parts_. She can see two men guarding the front doors of the place, their arms crossed and their eyes staring straight ahead. They don’t look at Bellamy at all, but they do send Clarke a curious look as she walks past them.

If she thought the outside was unexpected, the inside is even more surprising. The room looks _modern,_ with a training center to her right and several long black tables with boxes and computers and such to her left. At the far end of the room, there’s a huge flatscreen TV with a long L-shaped couch. There’s at least fifteen people on the first floor, and even more people coming up and down the stairs, so she can’t even imagine how many people are in the building.

Several men come up to Bellamy as soon as they see him appear through the doors. None of them take notice of her as she stands behind him. “Hey, Bellamy, is it true that the mayor is coming tonight?” one man asks.

“Yeah, who knew the mayor would ever pay us a visit?” another man jokes. Then he waggles his eyebrows. “Where’s your princess?”

Everyone behind him sniggers, throwing their heads back. Clarke feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, even though they aren’t making fun of her. At least, they aren’t making fun of her badly.

The murderous glare on Bellamy’s face quickly shuts them up. “Shut up, guys. She’s right behind me,” he says, moving aside to show her to them, and Clarke doesn’t miss that he never denied she was _his princess._

She watches as their faces morph into something of curiosity. They stand there for a good three seconds before Bellamy speaks up gruffly, “What, have you guys never seen a girl before?”

The men all ignore him. Bellamy may be Marcus’ second-in-command, but the men look like they only listen to him half of the time, and right now is not one of those times. She squirms slightly under their gaze, but refuses to look intimidated by them.

The man一or rather, boy, because he looked even younger than her一who made the joke comes up to her first. He offers her his hand. “Jasper Jordan, at your service ma’am.”

Clarke laughs before shaking his outstretched hand. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, sparing a glance at Bellamy for a split second before his smile comically widens. “All of us are,” Jasper jokes, and Clarke looks on confused until she turns to see Bellamy trying to appear nonchalant. He’s not very successful, and she’s about to ask him about it when she hears someone say her mother’s name.

Her mother and Marcus are deep in conversation as they enter the warehouse. The room erupts with a hundred different conversations as they watch the two come up to Bellamy and Clarke.

Clarke runs up to hug Abby. “Mom, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she breathes.

Her mother hugs her back with the same force. “I’m glad you’re okay, too,” she says. “I’m sorry I never checked up on you, I’ve had to do a lot in the last hour. I knew you were safe with Bellamy.”

“It’s okay, it was hectic back there, I know. But Mom, what the hell happened?”

Abby shakes her head. “You’ll find out right now. The important thing is that everybody is unharmed.”

Marcus walks forward and nods at Bellamy, who responds by turning to the mafia. “Okay, guys, quiet down! It’s probably ten minutes past midnight at this point, and the meeting needs to start now,” Bellamy shouts, ever the stern and reprimanding person that Clarke knows. She follows her mom to a round table near the center of the floor. She thinks that they use the table to write down plans or eat food or something, but no one bats an eye as he hoists himself up to stand on it.

“As you all probably know, Indra’s mafia has officially confirmed that they’re going to attack us. What happened at the gala after I left with prin一Clarke?” he asks, quickly correcting himself.

“They shot the first bullet. No one got hurt, which _I guess_ is good,” one burly man says in the back. Clarke can guess what would be _better than good_ for him: if they got to hurt Quint and his men. “They drove off in an SUV before we could get them. There wasn’t a plate number.”

Bellamy takes the update silently, crossing his arms in thought. “Okay. I’m sure Kane will agree with me when I say that the best thing to do right now is to expect the worst and prepare for it. I want more coordination with the ACPD, and I don’t want any complaints about it.”

“He’s right,” Marcus begins, weaving his way through the men until he stands right next to the table. “There’s no telling what will happen now, but I want to reinforce the city’s security and I need more men… Everywhere.”

“How is that going to work when the mafia is only made up of eighty men? How are we going to cover three hundred square miles of a city?” one man shouts.

“It’s not just us, idiot, it’s the police force too,” Bellamy snaps, and then he hesitates. “And if we have to, we’ll involve the FBI.”

Collective gasps are heard throughout the room, Clarke being one of them. Involving the FBI would mean that this is a nationwide threat. It’s hard to believe that something in Ark City would be dire enough to involve national security. “You think we’d need to involve the feds?” she asks without thinking, and every single person’s eyes land on her. Her eyes stay trained on Bellamy.

“Possibly,” he guesses, shrugging a shoulder, “Unless you think that the town exploding into chaos and gunfire is something you don’t think is serious enough.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. So you think they were serious? You think it’ll come down to bloodshed and chaotic fighting?”

Bellamy’s eyes light up with anger before he reins it in with an inhale. She realizes that she forgot to keep her mouth shut like he asked her to. “Consider every possibility, and act on the worst possible outcome,” he states, like it’s the most obvious strategy in the world. “And stop rolling your eyes at me.”

She didn’t even realize she was rolling her eyes again. “It’s a natural reaction,” she admits, not sounding contrite at all.

He sends her one last glare before taking his eyes off Clarke and turning to the mafia. For a moment, she’d forgotten that they were in the same room. Looking at everybody now, almost everyone’s gaze is directed towards her. _Oops._

“One more thing一we can’t be spending money on the underground casino anymore. We need the money.”  

A flurry of complaints echo in the warehouse.

“Wait, what the _fuck_?”

“Jasper, don’t cuss in front of the mayor!” someone chastises.

“Oh, let him do whatever the fuck he wants,” a deep-voiced man says behind her.

“Okay, quiet!” Bellamy yells at them, and everyone flinches into silence. “Kane.”

Marcus steps up on the table after Bellamy steps down. “He’s right. I don’t want to hear about any complaints about the underground casino. I promise you that when this is all over, the underground casino will be back in business. Even _I_ will be there, with a drink or five after all of this shit is past us.” He pauses so that the crowd can finish laughing. He’s not just the mafia boss or leader; he’s their _friend_ , albeit a very respected and not-to-be-disobeyed one. “But for right now, I need all of you on your best behavior. I need you guys to fight for this city, and for the lives of innocent civilians. This is something that was brought about by ourselves, and we need to contain this before it gets worse.

“We now know that Indra’s mafia wants to retaliate because of the deaths that our mafia caused them several years ago, and apparently the failed transaction has caused them to distrust us. I still have not figured out whether or not it was an accident or not. Nevertheless, we need to fight this with as little actual fighting as possible一which, I know is not our usual style, but we need to do this for the sake of the city and the city only. No personal benefits.” He sweeps his eyes across the room, making sure his point was getting absorbed by everybody. All pretense of humor is gone.

“Until we get word from Indra or any other rival mafia member that seems to like barging in the city, we will be strengthening our devices and training every day for the next month. I don’t want any crimes committed by any of you, except weapons trafficking of course.” His subordinates all nod in understanding. “Okay, meeting’s over. I want all of you here training tomorrow at eight AM.” He nods once at them before hopping off the table. The men begin to disperse, chatting quietly before picking up into rowdy laughter and jokes.

 _Men,_ Clarke thinks, snorting silently. To be more specific: _mafia men._

She spots Bellamy speaking with Marcus, and she doesn’t want to interrupt them, so she tells her mother, “I’m just going to sit down over there,” and walks over to a bench near the entrance, away from everyone else. She might as well rest while she’s waiting.

Next thing she knows, she’s being shaken awake by a Bellamy Blake looking down at her.

“Hmm, are we leaving now? What time is it?” she groggily asks, still a bit dazed and confused from her mini-nap.

“It’s one-thirty. Lincoln’s waiting in the car. You okay to walk?”

Oh, so not such a mini-nap after all. She napped for almost an hour and a half on a fucking bench with about thirty other people in the same room. She must’ve looked really stupid. “Um, yeah, I could walk.” She gets up and stretches languidly, her shirt riding up. Glancing around the room, she can see that the place has almost cleared out, but there are still some men lifting weights or watching TV. Do these men ever get any sleep?

“Where’s my mom?”

“She left a little after you fell asleep. She wanted to take you home, but then she remembered that she had to drop by City Hall or something. Probably something about tonight.” He starts to glare at her. “I told you not to speak out, and you did so anyway. Will you ever listen to me?”

“What’s the big deal? Nothing happened. They didn’t do anything to me.”

“They could’ve.”

He leads the way again with her following him all the way down to the car. The wind is cold tonight, and it sneaks through her sweater, causing goosebumps to rise. She’s shivering by the time she makes it into the car, and by the time they’re on the way home, Lincoln has the heater on high and Clarke is knocking out in the backseat.

She doesn’t know how long she sleeps for this time, but probably not for very long, because the next thing that registers in her mind is that she isn’t in a car anymore. She’s back at her house, the lights all turned off and she’s on her way up the stairs. Except she’s not the one walking, it’s Bellamy, and she’s swaying slightly in his arms.

Clarke shuts her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She doesn’t know why she does it, but she _does_ know that she enjoys this feeling, likes the warmth that is emanating from his chest. Her head falls on his arm, and she might just actually fall asleep again in his arms, but then he’s placing her on the bed and she jostles awake. She keeps her eyes carefully closed the whole time, curious as to what he does when he thinks she isn’t watching.  

For the next minute, it’s completely silent as she lays in bed. At first, Clarke can’t figure out what he could be doing, but then she realizes that he must be watching her sleep. Her cheeks are about to go red from a gaze that she can’t even fucking _see_ when suddenly her shoes are being taken off and there’s a blanket being draped over her body.

His hand brushes her hair away from her face, his fingers skimming her cheeks for a single moment before moving away. It tickles her, but she keeps her face composed long enough for him to back out of the room and go into his own. When she hears his door close, she blinks her eyes open.  

She can’t help smiling into her pillow before falling asleep.


	7. change of plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys find out a lot about various characters in this chapter, because there wasn't much talk about any particular character's past, and I kinda wanted a chapter devoted to that. hope it's not too boring. at least it's a big chapter, and there's some realization of feelings here!

Clarke jolts awake to Octavia to opening her curtains loudly, an angry expression written on her face. The light from her windows filters onto her bed, causing her eyes to squint. She groans. “What the fuck, Octavia.”

She sees her put her hands on her hips, towering over Clarke’s body in bed. “How come neither you nor Bellamy thought it important to tell me that you were involved in a shootout?”

Clarke sighs. “There was a lot on my mind, and it was late. It’s not as bad as you think. No one got hurt,” she reassures her, rubbing her eyes. “You didn’t hear about it? It’s on the news.”

Octavia ignores her, bouncing onto her bed. “I demand to be in the know. Bellamy never lets me be in the know.”

“Well, I was at the warehouse last night一”

“ _What?_ ” she screeches. “He let you go to the warehouse? He never lets me go to the warehouse with him!”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s Bellamy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He’s my stupid overprotective older brother who thinks keeping me from the warehouse is gonna keep me from knowing shit, but I find plenty on my own.”

It makes sense that Bellamy keeps secrets from his baby sister for her protection, being the way that he is. “How do you find shit out, then?”

“I have spies on the inside,” Octavia jokes, like she’s a secret agent when really she wants to satiate her curiosity. “My friend Jasper. Did you see him there last night? He’s the one that told me about last night.” She pauses to narrow her eyes at Clarke. “Don’t tell Bell.”

“I won’t. So you know people in the mafia?”

“Yeah, they come by our apartment sometimes,” she says. “I’ve only met the ones that Bell thinks are nice enough to invite over and _expose to his sister_.”

“Sounds legit,” Clarke teases with a smirk. “But yes, I did see Jasper. He’s… funny. The warehouse is not what I expected it to be, though. Very modern and functional, for being in an abandoned warehouse and all. They have a huge training center, and a section just for watching TV on this huge flatscreen, and I saw tons of weapons I don’t even know.”

“You gotta take me there next time,” Octavia pleads. She brushes the hair out of her face as she speaks, her hair tangling between her fingers. Clarke admires her features for a moment; she has long brown hair, a shade or two lighter than her brother’s, her sharp jaw and petite, slim figure making her feel a familiar envy that she used to feel every day of high school. “But I’m glad you guys didn’t get hurt.” She gets up off the bed. “When you see Bellamy, tell him I want to talk to him.”

Octavia makes way for the door, but Clarke stops her. “Wait, he’s not here?”

“Unfortunately, no. I didn’t catch him before he left. He must’ve left really early this morning, because I’ve been up since seven. Didn’t you guys come home late last night?”

“Yeah,” Clarke mumbles distantly. What would Bellamy need to wake up at the crack of dawn for? “What do you think he’s doing?”

“Whenever he leaves the house early, he’s either training or doing something for Kane,” Octavia tells her. “That’s weird, though. If he’s not here, who’s guarding you?”

“That would be me.”

Octavia turns, and Clarke cranes her neck to look past her. Miller stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, and it reminds Clarke of Bellamy doing the exact same thing last night. _Was it only just last night?_ she wonders. _It feels like it was years ago already._

Clarke waves, confused. Why is he guarding her now?

He nods at her. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Hey, Miller! Long time no see,” Octavia greets, going up to give him a hug. Miller accepts it.

“I know, sorry. It’s been pretty busy, this past month.”

“Hmm, you don’t say, considering there were guns pointed at _all of you_ at the gala last night!”

Miller breathes through his mouth. “It’s being taken care of, Octavia. Your brother’s making sure of it.”

“Where’s Bellamy?” Clarke questions, cutting to the chase.

“I think I saw him training at the warehouse, but he could be gone by the time I get there. Kane’s having him try figuring out what to do next, how to figure out what _they_ might do next,” Miller relays. “So, until he gets any free time, he’s making me babysit you.” His tone is jokingly fond as he crosses his arms. “He told me to tell you he’s sorry.”

Clarke doesn’t know why she feels disappointed at the news. She always guessed that he couldn’t always keep an eye on her, but she never guessed that it would be saddening to hear that he wasn’t going to stand stoic nearby.

But she _does_ like Miller, and she doesn’t mind having him as a temporary bodyguard. “It’s fine. I assume you don’t have to move in like the Blakes did?”

That earns her a chuckle. “No, Bellamy will probably come home before the evening.”

Clarke nods her head, chewing her lip. “Okay. What’s for breakfast?” she asks, getting up.

Octavia smirks. “You mean lunch? It’s noon.”

“It’s _noon_?” Clarke’s jaw drops.

“You went to one of our midnight meetings, and you attended a gala that went to absolute shit. Of course you slept ‘til noon,” Miller says.

She trudges downstairs tiredly, despite the amount of sleep she got, Miller and Octavia chatting behind her. It’s Sunday, so the cook isn’t working. Clarke walks to the pantry in the kitchen and takes out ready-to-boil ramen.

The water in her pot is almost boiling when she notices Octavia and Miller watching her from the kitchen island.

“Please do not tell me ramen is the only thing you can cook. If it even _constitutes_ as cooking,” Octavia says, arching a single eyebrow. Miller laughs.

Clarke stares. “I can make a mean mac and cheese,” she supplies.

When the ramen is finished cooking, she puts it in a bowl and sits at the island. The two have the TV turned on in the kitchen, watching one of those channels with the infomercials.

Octavia grumbles about how boring it is before she switches it to a different channel. “Ugh, the news again!” she complains.

Something on the TV catches Clarke’s eye. “Wait, don’t change it.”

_“Reports are saying that we have a long, uncertain road ahead of us as we continue to watch the fighting going on between the local mafias. One of them of course runs under the leadership of Marcus Kane, millionaire and entrepreneur, who works alongside the city as of today, and the other under a wanted woman who only goes by Indra, infamously known for taking out her enemies not with a gun but with a long-bladed sword.”_

“Does she really only use a sword?” Clarke asks.

A picture of Indra appears on the screen, showing a wicked gleam in her eyes and a strong expression. Her blood runs cold at the thought of that woman plotting to destroy her city.

“Yeah,” Miller says, shuddering as if remembering something vividly. “I hope I never have to confirm that with firsthand experience. I’ve only seen photos.”

“I think it’s badass,” Octavia comments, nodding appreciatively, “but she’ll never get to use it on any of our men, including my brother, that’s for sure.” Clarke’s not about to disagree with her, that’s for sure. Both because she hopes Octavia’s right and because her fierce expression kind of scares her.

“You can bet your ass that we’re not getting hurt,” Miller says. “I’m not gonna let that happen.” He stares as Clarke blows her ramen and adds a decent amount of spices. “Care to make your temp a bowl of ramen too?”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Oh, now you want ramen after making fun of my limited cooking skills? Make your own damn ramen.”

Miller puts his hands up in surrender before going to the pantry for his own pack of ramen. Of course, this leads to Octavia scratching her head in frustration before owning them both up by getting pasta noodles and teaching them both how to make spaghetti for a late lunch.

And for the rest of the day, that’s how it goes: the three of them hanging out at Clarke’s house, chatting and laughing and joking around. They end up in her backyard, cranking up some good music and jumping in the pool by three in the afternoon.

Bellamy has a text waiting for her on her phone when she jumps out of the pool.

Bellamy [sent at 3:44 PM]: _how are you doing?_

Clarke [sent at 3:59 PM]: _I’m fine. We’re swimming today._

Clarke grows an extra set of balls and decides to send him another text. She only hesitates once before pressing send.

Clarke [sent at 4:00 PM]: _My day doesn’t feel the same without you here. It’s weird._

Half a minute later her phone vibrates with a new message.

Bellamy [sent at 4:01 PM]: _sorry, princess. text me if you need anything_

She scowls at the nickname. Even through text he remembers to call her a princess. All it does is remind her of how he views her as a privileged brat. She can say now, after the events of last night, that she wants him. She wants him here, by her side, and she tries not to let that scare her since she’s only known him for a month. _He’s not Finn, you can get close to him. You can get to know him,_ Clarke assures herself _._

But how can she even attempt to get to know him when she knows that all he sees when he sees her is some girl living in her castle without a care in the world?

Hanging out with Octavia and Miller means that she can get to know them more, so she puts her phone away and talks to them in between swimming and a game of volleyball in the water.

She learns that Miller’s been in the mafia since he was sixteen, when he became friends with Bellamy and was introduced to a life of crime. “I was mainly in it at first to meet new people, because I was the new kid from DC, but then I realized that I could help them. All of them needed something out of the crimes they were doing, and I only wanted to do good.”

Clarke smiles at that, while Octavia looks down to her lap, frowning.

“I think this whole mafia war thing is pretty dangerous,” Clarke jokes, but Miller shrugs. “He figures that he might as well give up on trying to get me to stop helping the city, and at least if he’s in the police he can work with me and keep an eye out.”

She’s met Miller's father a couple times, at some of the mandatory galas and fancy events that her mother drags her to, and he, along with the rest of the police, are surprisingly supportive of the mafia. She guesses that a lot of what the last generation of the mafia, including a much younger Kane, did for Ark City left a lasting impression of them and their capabilities.

“Bellamy became part of the mafia when he was fourteen, almost fifteen,” Octavia admits, after staying silent throughout Miller and Clarke’s conversation. “Our mother couldn’t support us, and Bellamy was balancing work and school before he met Kane.”

She knows that he started at a young age一much too young in her opinion一but she never knew why or how. She scoots forward. “What happened then?”

Octavia nods. “Bellamy grew interested in his… line of work, knowing that it would bring a lot of money for us, and he agreed to have Kane give him training.”

Clarke’s perspective of Bellamy shifts slowly, like another piece of a puzzle fitting into its place. All she can imagine now is a scrawny, prepubescent boy trying to earn the money his mother couldn’t.

Raven calls her a little while after, freaking out over the phone about how much danger Clarke’s been exposed to in the last twenty-four hours. They catch up for a bit, about how their summers are going since they had their lunch a week or two ago, and they make plans to hang out later this week. Clarke makes sure that her best friend is reassured that she is fine and that she’ll try not to get into any more danger before she hangs up.

And then at around six, after they’re all done being in the pool and are dressed in clothes again, Bellamy calls Miller while they’re all lounging in chairs and munching on all the junk food they could find in the house一Abby likes to keeps a lot of unhealthy food around the house for being a doctor-turned-mayor.

“Yeah, Bellamy, they’re both here and alive. How many times do I have to say that before you believe me?” Miller says into the phone, his eyes rolling to the sky.

He listens to Bellamy’s reply before speaking again. “I understand, you don’t see your girls for a whole day and you get worried. No big deal.” He smirks as he teases his friend. The joke must be something of a regular to the two of them, because then Miller snickers wholeheartedly. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever you say. When do I get to be relieved of my post?”

Miller pauses again. “Okay, bye.”

“What did he say?” Octavia asks. Clarke looks to Miller, eager to know the answer to that question as well.

“He’s just checking on you guys. He’ll be home before eight.”

True to his word, Bellamy comes home before dusk. He finds them arguing over which _Harry Potter_ movie is the best; Clarke thinks _Prisoner of Azkaban_ was the best, but Octavia thinks _Order of the Phoenix_ takes the cake. Miller watches humoredly from his seat in Clarke’s jacuzzi.

Clarke is just about to refute something Octavia just said when she hears someone clear their throat. “Miss me?”

All heads turn to Bellamy standing by the sliding door, a bit sweaty from training and a smirk taking its standard position on his face. Miller slides out of the jacuzzi, grabbing a towel before going over to his friend. Octavia rushes up and reaches Bellamy before he could get there, though.

“Bell,” Octavia breathes into his shoulder, hugging him around the neck, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Bellamy scrunches his eyebrows as he hugs his sister back. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I haven’t seen you since before you decided to be involved in dangerous gunfire.”

“It’s not the first time. I always come out fine, in the end, you don’t have to worry.” He turns to Miller, and appraises Miller’s swimming trunks. “Glad to know you can do your job from a jacuzzi.”

Miller crosses his arms. “Oh relax, Bellamy.”

Bellamy chuckles before he looks to his left to meet Clarke’s eyes. She only stares right back, and she’s reminded of what she found out about his past today. The young boy she envisioned is still fresh in her mind, and her heart pangs at what he had to go through. She won’t show her sympathy, knowing he won’t want or like it, but she sure can try to understand him better now.

Letting go of his sister, Bellamy walks up to Clarke and slips his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do my actual job today,” he apologizes, his hair brushing his eyes as he hastily tries to move it away. He needs a haircut, but she admits she likes his hair this way, long and messy. “I’m afraid it’s going to be like this for a while. Kane’s got me running a group of people who need more training, and in a couple days I’m supposed to go down to DC to get information about the other mafia from locals. Call it a business trip.”

“So Miller’s gonna be my bodyguard in the meantime?” Clarke tries and fails to mask her disappointment. Just when she was starting to talk to him more and get to know him, he’s going to disappear on her.

“Only for a week or two. If you’re concerned about your safety, I can assure you that Miller’s great, and you’ll have a ton of security breathing down your neck. Your mother’s amping up the security around here now that something extreme has happened in the public’s eye.”

She shakes her head. Her conscience is telling her to roll her eyes when he brings up her safety for the umpteenth time, but she’s trained herself in suppressing that temptation. Her heart skips a beat at the thought of him constantly worrying about her. It’s sweet, but she has to remind herself that _it’s just his job, he’s doing this because he has to._ But now he’s not even going to be her bodyguard! “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about _your_ safety, and the safety of the people in the mafia. I don’t want people getting hurt because of this stupid thing.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about right now. We’re only going to be scoping out what we’re up against, maybe find out what they’re planning for us. I’ll leave Wednesday, and come back Saturday, and I’ll be your bodyguard again. But I need you to worry about yourself and yourself only,” he asserts, a stern tone taking over his words.

“Yes, sir,” she says, before saluting him and walking around him to step inside the house, knowing he’ll inevitably follow, like he has been doing for a month. Clarke hopes he doesn’t stop doing that, despite his change of plans.  


	8. trade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the love as always. always love reading your responses/reviews on the chapters, so keep them up! this chapter got really big, so it's divided in two. sorry if these updates are super slow, I'm honestly the worst writer when it comes to delivering chapters fast. I just have so many ideas and idk how to write them all concisely!

“Here,” Clarke says, handing Bellamy two pairs of sweatpants and a couple T-shirts. “For your pajamas.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking them from her and putting it in his suitcase. “You know, you don’t have to help me pack. I’m leaving for three days, not three weeks.”

She shrugs. “I want to.”

It’s Tuesday, the day before Bellamy has to leave for DC. Clarke’s sitting on his bed, helping him sort through his clothes, even though he’s probably the tidiest person she knows. She throws a black jacket at him, which he catches swiftly with reflexes that take Clarke’s breath away.

Not that the black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs in his suitcase, folded neatly next to his shirts, didn’t already do that.

“Remember, you know my cell phone number, the hotel where I’m staying at, you even have Kane’s number一”

“Bellamy, I’ll be fine! Don’t tell me you don’t trust your best friend?”

He huffs. “I _do_ , but I worry.”

She rolls her eyes, causing Bellamy to glare at her. She knows he hates it when she does that. “There’s nothing to worry about. Like you said, you’re leaving for three days.”

Bellamy zips up his suitcase, sighing. “I don’t know what’s come over me for the last couple weeks. I’ve been on edge.”

“You’re waiting for something to happen. And now that they’ve come to the city, you’re tense.” Clarke hasn’t missed the hard line of his shoulders, the constant frowning, the hours he spends training and getting ready for the worst. Bellamy could just be a worrier, but if he really thinks something will come, then it’s enough for Clarke to be worried herself.

“I’m going to figure out what the hell they’re planning, then come back here and devise a defense strategy, while also being your bodyguard.”

She hums. “You’re a busy man.”

“Comes with the job,” he says, shrugging.

Clarke straightens. “That reminds me. Octavia was talking to me about something, and I wanted to ask you about it.” At Bellamy’s raised eyebrow, she continues. “How did you first become interested in the mafia?”

Somehow, his eyebrow raises even higher. “She talked to you about me?”

“Yeah, about how you began working in the mafia.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows come back down harshly. “What did she tell you about?” he asks, nearly shouting the question at her.  

Clarke rears back. “She only told me about how you started training under Marcus when you were fourteen,” she says slowly, like she is talking to a frightened animal. “Why so defensive?”

He shakes his head, getting up off the floor. Placing his suitcase at the end of his bed, he shakes his head. “Nothing.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s obviously something.”

“It’s nothing!” he repeats loudly, causing her to jump. Recovering from her shock at his raised voice, she scowls at him. “Sorry, it’s just一it’s nothing.”

“Bellamy, you can tell me一”

“Clarke, just let it go. I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice is hard, serious. He leaves no room for argument, not that Clarke would ever try. His fists are clenched, and his body is tense.   

She nods. “Okay, sorry.” Clarke’s curiosity is raging, but she doesn’t push it. Whatever he’s hiding, it makes him uncomfortable to talk about.

She watches him fold clothes into a drawer in the corner of the room when she speaks up.

“Can I ask you something else, then?”

He gives her a wary look, nodding.

“Mexican or Thai for dinner tonight? I’m kind of hungry,” she adds, grinning.

Bellamy rewards her efforts to clear the tension in the room when he laughs. His shoulders slacken and he runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s have Thai tonight.”

Clarke smiles and grabs her phone from her back pocket. “I’ll order takeout,” she announces, standing up and walking out of the room. 

* * *

Bellamy leaves the next day, and with him Clarke’s will to stay calm. She’s restless, always thinking about this and that, and she doesn’t notice that she’s always walking through the house until Octavia grabs her shoulders to push her onto the couch.

“Stop,” the younger Blake orders. “You’re going to exhaust yourself, constantly overthinking and running around like a crazy person.”

“I know, but I’m not doing anything at all these days. My art classes are over, so now I’m stuck at home with nothing to do.”

“Wanna go out tonight?”

Clarke shrugs. She can either worry at home all day, or do something outside and try to get her mind off it. The latter sounds better. “Yeah, sure. Movie and dinner?”

Octavia smiles. “That’s more like it. I’ll go get ready,” she announces, getting up to presumably go to her room.

Clarke gets Lincoln to drive them to the theater, and she somehow feels like she’s tagging along on a date the whole time there, Octavia chatting to Lincoln from the backseat. It’s not like she’s being excluded; she’s definitely laughing along with them as Octavia recalls a funny story.

Lincoln is older than her, maybe by about six or seven years, but she thinks they’re good for each other. Octavia brings out the carefree side of Lincoln, and Lincoln makes her more mature, more grounded.

Belatedly, she realizes that she forgot to tell Miller that she was going out today, so she takes out her phone to text him.

Checking her notifications, she sees she has five missed calls and three text messages. Oh, fuck.

Miller [sent at 3:30 PM]: _Where are you? I’m at the house_

Miller [sent at 3:46 PM]: _Both you and Octavia are not responding. Tell me where you guys are!_

Miller [sent at 3:51 PM]: _I’m telling Bellamy if you don’t reply in one minute._

“Fuck!” She checks the time. It’s already four.

“What is it?” Lincoln asks, his face searching hers from the rearview mirror.

“I never told Miller where I was going. And we were too distracted to respond to his texts or answer his calls. He said he was going to tell Bellamy _nine_ minutes ago.”

Like it was waiting for the right moment, her phone buzzes. Bellamy’s name flashes on the screen.

“It’s my brother, isn’t it?” Octavia guesses, biting her lip. Clarke nods, staring at the phone as it buzzes in her hand. “Well, answer it!”

Clarke presses accept on the call while Lincoln parks outside the theater. “Hello?”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, but she can hear his heavy breathing on the other end. “I leave for _half a day_ and you got half my guys searching Ark City for you and O? What the fuck, Clarke?”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Octavia and I just got to the theater. I forgot to mention it to Miller before we left.”

He sighs. “Princess, you’re driving everyone crazy. Can you tell O that she needs to check her phone too?”

Clarke looks over at Octavia, who looks at her guiltily and probably knows what her brother just said. “I know, we’re sorry. I’ll tell Miller right now where I am. But it’s just the theater. We’ll be fine.”

He sighs again. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Be safe.” She doesn’t get to say goodbye before he hangs up.

“Was he nuts?” Octavia asks.

“A little bit. The usual amount,” Clarke hedges. “Come on. The movie starts in a couple minutes.” They say goodbye to Lincoln as they rush inside the theater.

Miller is furious with her when she calls him, but she reassures him twenty times and he forgives her. He tells her that he’ll trust her to be okay on her own for one night. “I know Bellamy doesn’t even let you breathe out on your own, so make this your free day,” he adds, his tone teasing. Clarke rolls her eyes at him even though he can’t see.

They watch _Batman vs. Superman_ , and Clarke admits it’s a pretty good movie. Octavia seems to agree. “The man who plays Superman can save me anytime he wants,” she says dreamily, and Clarke hums in agreement. Superman definitely tops Batman. Not as mesmerizing as Bellamy, though.

_Wait, what?_

“We should go out for tacos. Or sushi. What do you want?” Octavia asks, not noticing Clarke is going through an internal conflict.

“Um, tacos sound great.”

Octavia grins. “I know just the place.”

Clarke follows Octavia as she weaves her way through the various shops and stores. They stop when they get to a food truck parked near the outskirts of the mall.

Out of all people, it’s Jasper’s head that pops out the window. “Octavia! Long time no see! And you brought Clarke!” He opens the back of the truck and jumps down, running up to them with a grin. “You come here for our world famous tacos?”

“Our?” Clarke asks.

“Monty and I,” he says, looking back to point at his business partner. Monty takes a man’s order as he waves and smiles at them briefly.

“You know Monty?”

“We’ve been best friends forever, of course I know Monty,” he says. “I introduced him to his boyfriend, for fuck’s sake.”

Clarke laughs. “How did you guys meet?”

“Third grade. We’ve been best friends since. I dropped out of freshman year of high school and became homeschooled when I joined the mafia, as a tech expert.”

“He advises the mafia while they’re out on missions, advises them on weapons,” Octavia brags for him, like she’s a proud mom, “and he’s even saved a life or too. Mine included.”

“What? When did he need to save your life?”

“I was ambushed by a gang. They would’ve cornered me if Jasper hadn’t run in and thrown a smoke bomb. He carried me out of sight before the smoke cleared.”

“Holy shit,” Clarke exclaims. “That’s horrible. I’m glad someone was there to save you.”

“Me too,” Octavia replies, patting Jasper’s back. “So, can you get us some tacos or are we gonna get all sappy today?”

“Definitely the tacos, coming right up ladies,” Jasper says with a wink before strolling off to the food truck.

Ten minutes later, Monty comes up to the table they’re sitting in and places tacos in front of each girl. “Hey guys, glad you stopped by!”

“Monty! It’s been so long since I last saw you,” Clarke greets, pulling him into a small hug. Octavia hugs him after.

“Well, now’s the time to catch right back up.”

And they do. As they dig into their tacos, which Clarke admits _are_ pretty freaking good, she finds out that Monty’s doing great, and that he’s starting an internship under an engineer.

“And what about you and Miller?” Octavia asks. “I need details.”

Monty blushes, and Clarke thinks it’s the most adorable thing she’s ever seen. “It’s great. I hear he’s your bodyguard now?” he asks, turning to Clarke.

“Temporarily,” Clarke corrects him. “When Bellamy comes back, Miller is all yours.”

“I’m counting on it,” Monty says. “Speaking of Bellamy, what’s up with him right now?”

“He’s in DC on a business trip, trying to get information on the other mafia. He’ll be back on Saturday, for sure.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than Monty.

Monty sees right through her. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he reassures her.

Even Octavia agrees, nodding at Clarke. “He’s been through worse, trust me.”

“Really? What kind of worse?”

“Like, worse enough to make me want to kill him every time he avoids being killed,” she tells her, her eyes glancing up at the night sky. “I somehow got used to it, but I still get worried when he goes on a dangerous mission. This business trip doesn’t even compare.”

Clarke hopes she’s right. She doesn’t ever want to come to a time when someone is hurt because of this. They’ve been lucky so far; no one’s been injured. She checks the time on her phone. “Wow, it’s already almost ten. I should text Miller.”

Jasper comes up behind her and sits on the bench, with his own plate of tacos. “You should text Bellamy too,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows.

Clarke chokes on a bite of her third taco which she covers up with a cough. “Okay, Jasper,” she says instead, knowing that Octavia is watching her curiously across the table. She avoids her eyes.

She texts Miller. _Hey, Octavia and I are eating tacos at Monty and Jasper’s truck._

Miller’s reply comes immediately. _Monty with you? Tell him I’m omw there_

Clarke grins at her phone. “Monty, Miller says he’s on his way,” she relays slyly, and the blush that spreads on Monty’s face makes everyone at the table laugh.

Ten minutes later, Miller arrives, bringing with him Murphy and a guy she doesn’t know.

“Hey, guys,” he addresses the table, and everyone replies with a flurry of greetings. “You guys know Murphy, and John.”

John, the man standing tall next to a smirking Murphy, has light brown skin and black hair. His eyes look dark, but when she peers a little closer, they’re actually green. “I don’t think we’ve met before. You’re Clarke Griffin?” he guesses, extending a hand toward her, which she takes.

“Yours truly,” she replies.

“John Mbege. Nice to meet you.”

Murphy takes a seat next to her as Miller and John take a seat next to Octavia, on the side that Jasper isn’t on. “Hey, Clarke. It’s been a while.”

“Four days,” Clarke points out. “And you finally stopped with the nickname. Can you teach Bellamy how to do that?”

“Who says I stopped? I’m only going to be calling you that when Bellamy is around.” Grinning, Clarke finds his amusement at bugging Bellamy humorous. “If you want, you could help me annoy him. Maybe put your arm around me when he’s around or some shit, that’ll for sure make him angry.”

Does everyone in the mafia like to tease Bellamy about this nonexistent crush he has on her? “If you really think that’ll annoy him, sure.”

Murphy’s mouth opens in disbelief. “You don’t think it will? I thought that was the most obvious way to get to him.”

It’s Clarke’s turn for her mouth to open in disbelief now. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you got Kane’s second-in-command wrapped around your little finger,” he explains, smirking again. “He’s different now. It’s hard to explain. But you can see the effect you have on him. You’ve brought out his _soft side_.” He snickers.

Octavia is apparently listening in on their conversation, because she interjects. “I never thought I’d say this, but Murphy’s right. He’s different. He cares about you.”

Clarke’s heart rate increases. All of this just gave her hope that may hurt her in the future if they’re both wrong, but she can’t help but want to believe what they’re saying. “And you’re okay with that? With your brother… caring about me like that?” She doesn’t want to go so far as to ask if she was okay with him _liking her_ , believing that it is still unfathomable.

“Do you want the sister’s approval? Because you definitely have that,” Octavia teases nonchalantly. “If you ever start dating him, we can be, like, _sisters_. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Clarke’s jaw drops. She’s got _Octavia’s_ approval.  Everyone at the table stares at her as she comprehends this. “You’re seriously okay with the idea of me dating your brother? My bodyguard?”

Octavia chews her lip, nodding. “Yeah, pretty much. Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s just...” she trails off, hesitant. “I never realized that you felt that way.”

Buzzes fill the air suddenly, ending the moment quickly. Miller, Murphy, and John simultaneously pull out their phones. And then all three of them stare at each other in dread.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

Miller clears his throat but nothing comes out of his mouth. _Oh, no._ Dread seeps into her bloodstream, filling her chest. “Someone say something!” Octavia asks. Jasper gets the buzz next, and he stares at his phone for a couple of seconds. “Jasper?”

“Guys, we gotta go,” Murphy says. “Clarke, Octavia. Bellamy’s group is in trouble. They need our help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Kane’s lost all connections to his men in DC. When he tries contacting them through their earpieces, he gets radio silence. He texted all of us for backup. He’s entirely alone at the hotel they’re at.”

They leave Monty and Jasper at the food truck and pile into Clarke’s car, Lincoln catching the gist of the situation and driving them towards the Edge. 

* * *

“I can finally say I’ve been to the warehouse.”

The three mafia men, Clarke, and Octavia stand in the weapons room at the abandoned warehouse that Clarke visited a couple days ago.

“Your brother really kept you from this place for the almost ten years he’s worked for Kane?” Murphy shoots at Octavia, side-eyeing her as he reloads an AK-47. Miller stands next to him, reloading a Glock and places it in one holster before taking another from the table and putting it in his other. They’re arming themselves, getting ready for danger. Getting ready to save Bellamy and his group. Her worry increases from this morning. If her worry was calculated on a meter, she’d say that it is reaching the brim.

Miller turns to Octavia and Clarke. “I need you guys to stay here. There’s no way I’m letting either of you straight into danger. This is the safest place to be right now, since security was tightened by Bellamy and there’s about fifty men in this building. You’ll be safe here.”

Clarke’s about to protest when her phone goes off. It’s a call from Bellamy. She presses accept. “Hello? Bellamy? Thank God you’re okay.”

“Hello, Ms. Griffin. I believe we’ve met before. It’s Gustus.”

Her intake of breath is heard by the whole room, and in the next second everyone hones in on her. They crowd around her and her phone in her outstretched hand. “Clarke, what is it? What is he saying?”

She takes the hand covering her mouth off to shakily press speaker. “It’s not Bellamy. It’s一it’s一”

Gustus speaks again. “I have Bellamy Blake and his men一well, the men who we’ve managed to keep alive一standing in front of me with their mouths gagged and their hands tied. They tried getting information on my operation here in DC and my guys caught him.”

“What do you want?” Miller yells.

A woman’s voice speaks on the other end, shocking Clarke. She’s only dealt with men so far in this mafia war. “I want the girl. I want the mayor’s daughter, Clarke Griffin. The girl who had the tenacity to stand up against my men back at the gardens, the girl who somehow caught the attention of every single man in my mafia with a type for blonde girls. Oh, look,” she drawls, angering the group and raising the tension in the room, “Bellamy doesn’t seem too keen on that idea. This looks like something interesting that I can have my fun with.”

The woman is describing the other mafia has _her men_ in _her mafia_. Clarke widens her eyes when she figures it out. “You’re Indra.”

“Oh, the girl is smart. I’m willing to offer you a deal. Clarke, if you want your bodyguard to live, you’ll come here to DC and sacrifice yourself to us.” Clarke looks alarmingly at Miller, whose jaw is clenched. John has a similar expression. Octavia looks fiercely at the phone, as if she can harm the people on the other end with her look alone.

The phone hangs up after that, leaving the group afraid yet determined. At least, Clarke knows she is.

If they want her, they’ll get her. Clarke can’t let Bellamy get hurt, if she can do anything about it. And according to Indra, who sounds like the scariest woman alive, she can.


	9. enemy territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I'M SO LATE. 
> 
> I really am sorry to everyone who waited a whole month for this. I started writing right after I posted chapter eight, but I wasn't satisfied with it. And then this horrible month started, and I had to study for AP exams and now I have to study for finals. this year definitely got stressful. please excuse me for having a busy life :/
> 
> I hope this sort of short chapter makes up for it??

“I can’t let you go with us.”

Clarke gapes at him. “Miller, did you hear Indra? She won’t let them go if I don’t go with you guys!” she shouts, running her hands through her blonde hair angrily, looking wildly around the room. She probably looks crazy. She feels like she’s going crazy.

Octavia places a hand on Clarke’s shoulder, directing her gaze on Miller. “I agree with Clarke. They have my brother. And if Clarke is going, I’m going too.”

His eyes widen further as if the thought of another addition to the rescue mission was giving him a heart attack. “ _No._ That place is probably heavily fortified. We don’t even know where to begin looking for them!”

Clarke stares down at her phone. “I think we do.”

Unknown Number [sent at 10:48 PM]: _You have 5 hours to present yourself to us, Clarke Griffin. If you bring anyone from your mafia, I’ll kill them as well as the hostages afterwards. Don’t keep me waiting._

After the message is an address in DC.

She shows the text message to them. “I need to go alone.” Opening up the GPS on her phone, she types in the address to find directions.

“Like hell you are,” Miller snarls. “Are you crazy?”

 _Yeah, a little bit._ “This is going to lead to deaths on both sides. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not, but this is what we’re trained to do! We’re under oath to protect citizens, and that includes you too. If you’re coming with us, we’re going in there with you, whether Indra wants that or not.”

“It is what she wants. She wants a fight,” Clarke argues. “What’s their saying again?”

Miller looks away from her face, knowing that she has him there. “Blood must have blood.”

Clarke shudders slightly at the words. “Exactly,” she murmurs, growing more afraid by the minute, but also more determined. She has to do this. There’s no other choice.

“Miller’s right,” Murphy chimes in, watching Clarke and Miller stare each other down. “Sorry Clarke, but I’m all for barging in and kicking ass today. It’s been awhile since we decided to go all… Goody-goody.” He scrunches his nose in mock disgust一at least, she hopes it’s with mockery.

Clarke stares at them in exasperation. Miller nods at Murphy with approval. “Okay then, we’re going in with Clarke.”

“Am I allowed to go? Since apparently I need your permission?” Octavia asks, glaring. She looks like she’d sneak in one of the cars and go if they denied her anyway.

“Fine,” Miller relents, probably getting the same vibes from Octavia that Clarke is getting, “but only if you stay behind if we choose to proceed with an attack on them. You are not getting hurt because you wanted to tag along for shits and giggles.”

Octavia scoffs. “I’m coming because I want to help, not because I want to watch. Are you forgetting that one time I beat you in the ring?” She sends him a side smirk, her eyes gleaming.

“That was _one_ time, Octavia, and it’s not fair when they let you use your samurai swords! What was I supposed to do with that against my bare fists?” he argues, bringing his fists up for emphasis. Judging by Octavia’s resigned rolling of the eyes, Clarke can tell that this is an argument that they’ve had in the past.

Clarke turns to Octavia. “You know how to fight with samurai swords?” Octavia nods. “Okay, wow. You’re definitely coming with us, then. Indra has swords, too, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I don’t know if I’m as good as her, but I can try to fend her off for a little while helping you get them out of there,” Octavia devises, determined.

Miller touches his earpiece. “I need every man within a mile radius of the warehouse to come. It’s code red.”

Clarke would ask what code red means, but she thinks she knows. “So do we have a plan?” she asks instead, directing her gaze at Miller and Murphy, her eyes moving between them.

They glance at each other. “Yes, we do, princess,” Murphy answers.  

* * *

Clarke rides with Miller, Murphy, Octavia, and a couple other men in a single van. DC is about an hour and a half away from Ark without traffic, so every half hour she barks at Murphy, the driver, to step on it.

After the third time she repeats the order to Miller from shotgun, Octavia chimes from the backseat. “I think you can go faster than seventy miles an hour, grandpa.”

“Would you rather die before saving Bellamy? Because that can be arranged,” Murphy threatens, gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Cool it, guys,” Miller grumbles, his legs bouncing on the car floor nervously. “You guys are making me tense.”

They don’t stop driving until around one in the morning, when there’s still many cars in sight in the busy outskirts of the District of Columbia. At this point on a regular night, Clarke would be yawning into her hands and dozing off on the couch, and Bellamy would usually be shaking her awake and ordering her to _sleep in a regular bed_ because _your back will kill you sleeping in that position_ ; right now, however, she’s wide awake and convincing herself that this isn’t a suicide mission. Murphy parks the car on a side street a little ways away from the main streets. He looks out the window. “Is this really it?”

Clarke checks her text message again. “Apparently, it is.”

He huffs, “Interesting choice of headquarters. Ours is definitely better.”

They’re parked outside of an abandoned department store, like a less popular Target or Walmart of sorts, with the lights turned off and the doors shut, but the sign on the door is flipped to show _open_ instead of _closed_. “They’re here. We have to get inside,” Clarke declares before pushing her door open and hopping out. Octavia slides the back door of the van open and hops out too, following her footsteps.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Miller calls as he gets out, “we need some sort of plan of action first. We’re not going in guns blazing, but I don’t think they’re gonna like us waving our guns around in there.”

“I’ll go in, see what they want, and if I don’t come out in fifteen minutes with Bellamy, you guys can scope out the inside and see what’s happening. Unless something happens before.”

Murphy nods, standing now outside of the car. “Good plan, princess. So, basically, stay put and wait until you scream to barge in and kill.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Clarke challenges, stepping forward toward him.

“Yeah,” he replies, before throwing a Glock in her direction. She catches at the last second, thankfully. The last thing she needs is to look like she can’t handle a gun. Or worse, to have a bruise on her face right before meeting with the hostile mafia.

“Okay,” she allows, storing the gun in the waistband of her jeans so that it presses against her butt and hides underneath her shirt.

“Let’s hope you know how to use that,” Miller mumbles, shaking his head. “Alright guys, I want two on one side of the door and the rest on the other side. Octavia, you’re waiting in the car.”

Clarke can hear Octavia groaning behind her as she begins to walk forward, getting closer and closer to the entrance to the store. She shuts her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. _No big deal. Just about to enter an apparent headquarters for a very dangerous mafia._ “I’m going in.” She pulls the door open quickly, rushing in before she can change her mind.

“Be careful,” she hears someone murmur behind her, and she’s stunned when her brain recognizes that it was Murphy’s voice. She looks back to nod before letting the glass door swing shut behind her.

The first thing she lays her eyes on is a sign by the produce section that reads _fresh oranges for $1 a pound!_

Making her way through the various fruits and vegetables, the entire store is silent except for her light footsteps. The whole ride over here, she was feeling pretty nervous and agitated, but now that she’s here she feels a sense of determination and calm that she welcomes gratefully.

She jumps where she is when someone speaks out of nowhere into the PA. “Hello, Clarke Griffin. Make your way to the back behind the refrigerator section for employees only.”

There must be security cameras nearby for them to have known she was here. She mentally smacks herself for not thinking of that first.

She makes it past the freezer section and to the back of the store, where the doors swing open with a push instead of a handle. “I swear to god, if we get out of this Bellamy, I’m going to kill you first,” she promises. Unless Octavia gets to him first.

Clarke pushes the swinging black doors open.

She recognizes the back of Bellamy’s head immediately, his black curls matted against his head. He’s tied to a chair, his two feet tied to a leg of a chair and his wrists tied behind his back, making his arms draped back in an uncomfortable position. Clarke’s face falls; she doesn’t even think to analyze the rest of the room around her.

Before she can call out his name, a fist flies and knocks her off her feet. Her eyes close and the world goes black. Darkness.


	10. weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for another really late update :/ I'm trying here, guys. this chapter should be long and good though. and we're officially at the halfway mark!

“Clarke.”

_She’s in a playground, that’s for sure. There’s a swing set nearby, and a yellow curvy slide. She can make out the jingle of an ice cream truck in the distance. Children are everywhere, running along, sliding down the slide, making sandcastles._

_She looks down at what she’s wearing. Overalls with a black-and-white striped shirt. Her small feet are in those light-up sneakers that she remembers she loves so much._

_“Let’s play detective!” one of the girls chirp to her right. She nods brightly._

“Clarke.”

_“Okay, you can be the detective,” Clarke says, giving the role to the girl. Of course, she’s the one calling the shots around here; she’s always the leader of the group. She looks to a boy to her left. “You can be the criminal. What do you want the story to be?”_

_The boy ponders for a moment, scrunching his eyebrows. “Oh! You can be someone I capture, someone with a lot of money,” he devises, eyes enthusiastic. “And I’ve stolen you from your family because… Because I want your money.”_

“Clarke, wake up.”

_The girl who’s supposed to be the detective taps Clarke’s shoulder. “Why do people in real life do this kind of stuff? Kidnap people to get what they want.”_

_Clarke stops, not expecting this kind of question. Why_ do _people do stuff like this? “Because,” she begins, struggling to answer her friend, “there’s a lot of bad people out there. They don’t care about what happens to anyone.” Her mother pops in her mind, and she continues. “And my mommy always said that bullies are actually the weakest.”_

_“The weakest?” the girl gasps. “But bullies are so mean!”_

“Clarke, god fucking dammit wake up!”

_Clarke shrugs. “My mommy says they all have a weakness.”_

“Princess!”

The dream disappears, and all of a sudden she’s not in the playground anymore; she’s in a small room, with dim lighting above her and musty air. It smells like dust and blood.

Clarke groans. Her head throbs, and she’s still in a dreamlike state. When the haze in her mind clears, she realizes she’s sat with her hands tied behind her back and her feet tied to the legs of the chair. Subconsciously, she remembers that Miller gave her a Glock earlier. They must have searched her for weapons.

“Had a nice sleep, princess?”

She jumps. The deep voice came from behind her. “Bellamy?”

“Yeah,” he says. She turns, and she sees he’s tied like her, with their backs touching. Clarke can hang her head back and rest it on his shoulder if she wanted to. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she answers. “You? How long was I out?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. And you were knocked out only about three minutes ago. But you were mumbling in your sleep.” He reaches behind him so that one of his hands intertwines with one of hers. It kind of hurts to twist her hands that way, but she doesn’t mind the pain if she gets to touch him; the reassurance from his contact calms her down more than she expected. He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand and she succumbs to the warmth that erupts in her chest. “Now, what the hell happened? Why are you even fucking here?” The anger is evident in his voice.

 _What a mood change._ She doesn’t think anyone can switch moods as fast as him. “I had to get to you,” Clarke says, and her face heats up when she realizes how much those words can be viewed in a different light, “Indra gave me no choice. She said I had to sacrifice myself to save一”

“To save _me_?” he asks, incredulous. She can’t see Bellamy’s face, but she can just imagine his eyebrows scrunching down and his mouth frowning in disapproval. “Shit, Clarke, my fucking _job_ is to protect _you_ , save _you_ when you’re in fucking danger. That includes _this_!”

“But一”

“No fucking buts. You should’ve left me here, in DC, and stayed home where you could be safe.” She hears him take a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself down. Waiting for him to speak again, she observes the room again. This is the room where she found him tied up before someone punched her. Before she can ask, he continues, “What does your mom think of all of this?”

Clarke pales. _Her mother._ “I sort of forgot to mention this whole trip to her.”

“You _what_? What the fuck, Clarke?”

She rolls her eyes. Can he calm down for one second? “Look, Miller told Kane before we left and must’ve told my mother. It’s not like we left without telling anyone.”

“Clarke一”

He’s interrupted from scolding her some more when a door to her right opens and lets bright light stream into the otherwise dark room. A man steps forward. The first thing Clarke notices about him is the scar below his left eye. _It’s Quint_ , Clarke realizes. The man who led the group of men at the botanical gardens gala. “So, you’re finally awake, huh? Are you guys playing catch-up?”

Neither of them answer. “What, did you both lose the ability to speak? Are you two enjoying a bit of a reunion?”

He’s met with silence again and gets agitated. Walking up to Clarke, he takes a strand of her blonde hair and threatens, “I’m going to have to ask you both to say something, or I might just have to hurt this pretty little thing.”

Clarke squeezes Bellamy’s palm, trying to tell him not to get angry, but of course she doesn’t succeed. “Fuck you,” he hisses.

Quint stares into her eyes, twirling the strand around his finger. She shies away in disgust. “Nah, I think I’d rather fuck her.”

Clarke spits in the man’s face as Bellamy roars, “Get your dirty hands off of her!” She watches in satisfaction as he grimaces and wipes his face with his shirt.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that, bitch,” he seethes. Then he raises his palm to slap her across her right cheek and she gasps in pain.

“Hey!” Bellamy yells. “She’s not the one you want, remember? I’m part of Ark’s mafia, not her.”

“I know,” Quint says, walking around to face Bellamy. Clarke can no longer see him. “But you’re wrong about what I want. Again, might I add.” She’s reminded of the previous conversation between the same two men back at the botanical gardens.

Bellamy doesn’t answer, so he continues. “Indra wants the girl for ransom.”

This isn’t what Clarke expected to hear, and probably not what Bellamy expected, either, because he hisses, “ _Ransom_? For what, money?”

“Why do you always think all we want is money?” Quint asks. “You don’t remember my little speech back at the botanical gardens?”

Clarke digs in her brain, struggling to remember what happened before everything went to shit at that restaurant.

_“My fight is with Ark City itself. The only reason why criminals like us are always committing crimes is because the wealthy hold all the money! They don’t give a shit about people like us, about your people at the Edge! And you men can’t see that!”_

_“I’m talking about the fact that someone in your law-abiding joke of a mafia killed my brother because you were siding with the police!”_

_“Blood must have blood.”_

“Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs, turning her head to see the side of his face, “they’re not doing the ransom for money. They’re doing it to get back at the city itself.” She glares at nothing in particular. “They’re doing it to bend my mom at their will.”

“Smart girl,” Quint says, confirming her suspicions. She was right. If they got out of this alive, she can tell the mafia and her mother what their plan is now. Quint seems to be someone who doesn’t mind talking; she should take advantage of that weakness.

“So, you want to take over the city? Good luck with that,” Clarke quips, purposely pushing his buttons. Clarke belatedly realizes she’s still holding Bellamy’s hand when he squeezes hers in warning. She squeezes back. Hopefully he’ll figure out she’s trying to get information. _We might be the ones tied up, but we’re going to be the interrogators._

“We have a plan for that,” Quint proclaims, shrugging her comment off. “After the takeover, we’ll place Indra in power and dismantle the city’s government. And your mafia, too.”

 _What?_ “That’s not going to work out,” Clarke objects, though her voice doesn’t have much conviction.

“Oh? I have you and your personal bodyguard tied up to chairs. I’m sure we can work something out with your mother.”

But what about Miller? The people she came with are still parked outside, aren’t they?

Nonetheless, Quint hasn’t mentioned her friends. This probably means that they have no idea she has backup.

Quint takes her unresponsive face as defeat, and starts to cackle. “Now you stop talking,” he points out jokingly. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure we won’t kill you.”

Those words don’t give her much reassurance.

“Your bodyguard, on the other hand,” Quint mentions, “I can’t say the same for.” Clarke hears the switch of a safety on a gun. She cranes her head around. In horror, she physically feels Bellamy tense up as the gun is directed at him.

“Don’t kill him,” Clarke blurts, “please just don’t kill him!” She scrambles for something to say, anything to say, to distract him. “It’s me you want, right?”

“He’ll just go looking for you if I set him free,” he reasons, keeping the gun aimed at Bellamy’s face. “Nothing stands in our way.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke cries. She squeezes his hand again, trying to coax a response out of him. Why hasn’t he said anything yet? “Bellamy!”

“Say goodbye while you can, Clarke Griffin,” Quint murmurs.

“She doesn’t have to,” Bellamy replies simply, before lifting his right leg out of nowhere and kicking the gun out of Quint’s hands.  

His face is furious as he clutches his palm to his chest. He’s obviously in pain, and Clarke once again gets satisfaction from his misery. _Yeah, my bodyguard can kick your ass still tied to a fucking chair._ “What the fu一”     

With the same foot, Bellamy kicks him _hard_ in the stomach so that Quint falls on his ass. While Quint’s preoccupied, Bellamy doesn’t waste any time in kicking the gun away from him. “Clarke, I need you to try and untie my hands,” he whisper-yells urgently.

Clarke lets go of his hand and feels around his ropes to find where the knot is. She tries to untie it for him, but the rope is too thick for her small hands and she can’t see what she’s doing. “Shit, I can’t do it!”

The sound of Quint struggling to get up is unmistakable. She tries faster, but it only makes her more clumsy. She curses again.

“Fuck it, I’m untying yours,” Bellamy grumbles. With precise fingers, he’s untied the knot on her hands and is uncoiling the rope from her wrists. Clarke figures he’s done this before, or has had practice at least. When she feels the rope from her wrists fall away, she immediately goes to untie his wrists, but he orders, “Untie your feet first. I got Quint.”

Quint raises a fist and punches Bellamy. The sound of his fist connecting to his cheek seems to reverberate through the room. Slightly trembling, Clarke bends down to her feet and starts to untie the ropes around her ankles. When she gets the first one done, she reaches over to her other ankle.

“Hey!” The outburst causes her to jump. Quint saunters over to see her front properly. _Shit, shit, shit_. What can she do?

Then something shines in the corner of her eye. The gun that Bellamy kicked away from Quint earlier. She launches herself toward it, dragging the chair with her one ankle still attached to it. Right when she feels Quint honing in on her back, his metallic smell edging closer to her, she swivels around with her arms outstretched, the gun in her two hands aimed right at his face.

“Back the fuck away,” she murmurs, and she’s grateful that her voice doesn’t shake.

The room is silent as all three of them realize what she is doing. What she _can_ be doing一putting a bullet in Quint’s brain.

Clarke wavers. She’s not used to having this kind of power over people. There’s a gun in her hand and all she can think about is how good it makes her feel to finally be in control of a situation. _Is having this feeling when holding a weapon of mass destruction a good thing?_

Quint’s the first one to speak. “You don’t have it in you,” he challenges, crossing his arms over his chest like having a gun aimed at him doesn’t affect him. “You’ve probably never held a gun in your life. Put the gun down.”

Standing up, a bit awkwardly what with the chair still attached to her ankle, she looks over to see Bellamy’s face. His face is a mixture of emotions, but the only two plain as day are shock and fear. Fear of what?

She looks back at Quint. “I failed to realize something earlier,” she admits, her hold on the gun tightening. “Loquaciousness isn’t your only weakness. Arrogance is another one. And apparently so is obliviousness, because I got my hands unbound to do this!”

She aims for his left foot and shoots once. Quint screams in pain, hopping on his right foot. “You bitch!” he snarls.

Clarke watches the blood stain his left shoe. _I really did it. I shot a man tonight._ “Clarke!” Bellamy shouts. “Help me get out of this! They’re bound to have heard that gunshot!”

She shakes her head before running over to him, freeing his left ankle and his hands quickly. He holds out a palm and she hands him the gun without a second thought. Then he offers her his other palm. Staring at it for a moment, she looks at him confusedly, but then he’s rolling his eyes fondly before grabbing her hand with it and running out the door. _Oh._  

There’s no time to think about it, though, because next thing she knows she’s bumping into Bellamy’s body. At first, she thinks that he stopped, but then Clarke realizes it’s because he’s bumped into somebody else. She peers around Bellamy’s shoulder.

“Miller?”

“Where the fuck were you?” Miller spits at Clarke angrily. He must’ve been worried. Her fifteen minutes must be up; they must’ve been scoping out the department store.

“There’s no time, we have to get the fuck out of here,” Bellamy hisses. “Clarke shot a man in the foot.” Does Clarke detect a bit of pride in his voice?

Miller’s shock is evident for a second before his face cools into determination. “Let’s go.” He presses his earpiece. “I have the both of them. Head back to the car.”

“Where the fuck are they?” a voice booms from behind them. They found Quint.

“Guys, we gotta haul ass now!” Bellamy yells, and then Clarke’s being dragged behind Bellamy with her hand still in his.

The run to the front of the grocery store feels like a mile. Clarke hears them when they barge into the store, and then they start shooting at random. She attempts to shriek, but the breath is lost in her throat. She can’t stop running, not now.

Someone in front of her pushes the door open, and then cool air brushes onto her skin. She’s outside. “Don’t let them get away!” she hears a woman yell behind her. _Indra?_

Miller opens the back car door for them. Bellamy lets Clarke get in first, and then he’s moving in behind her. She barely registers Miller and the other men getting in; she barely registers anything happening around her. The car starts to rumble as the engine starts, but she only gathers that subconsciously. She feels faint as the weight of tonight finally presents itself.

The only thing that registers is her surprise when strong arms wrap around her from behind, pulling her into warmth. She distinctly feels a kiss placed on her temple.

“We’re fine, but I wouldn’t mind some water right now,” she hears someone say right by her ear, answering a question she didn’t hear. _Bellamy_. His deep voice wraps around her like silk, keeping her from slipping into the darkness.

“Sleep now, princess,” are the words she hears before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did you think of the whole chapter??? glad to see that so many people are giving this fic some love, but I want to know your thoughts!


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